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Ties— Human and 
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RY 

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TIES-HUMAN AND DIVINE 

V 

B. L. FARJEON 

AUTHOR OF 

“ FOR THE DEFENCE,’* “ BLADE O’ GRASS,” ETC., ETC. 


JOHN 

<t/tuthoriied Edition 

{ ' JUL 17 1891 

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W. LOVELL COMPANY 


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Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE, 


THE FIRST LINK- SUPPLIED BY MR. 
MILLINGTON OF SHEPHERD'S BUSH, 


CHAPTER I. 

It is now four years since I received a note from Mr. 
Haldane, of Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park, requesting me to 
call upon him on a little matter of business. Under 
ordinary circumstances my reply would have been that I 
had given up business, and that I regretted I could not 
tear myself away from my garden and birds, and my pipe 
and newspaper, of all of which I am particularly fond. I 
should have written politely, of course, for I had accepted 
some commissions from Mr. Haldane in times gone by 
which had put a few pounds in my purse, but I had my 
own special reasons for reading his note twice over before 
; deciding what to do about it. And having read the letter 
I a second time I put it in my pocket, and stepped into my 
I garden in a brown study. 

* When a man is in a brown study, a pipe assists him, so 
i I lit mine ; and motion assists him, so I paced the nicely 
I gravelled paths, up one side and down the other, and up 
I and down again and again, revolving the subject in my 
i mind without arriving at a definite conclusion, although the 
weights in the scales were not quite equal. It was my lark 


4 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


which brought me to a full stop. Asa rule the notes of an 
imprisoned lark are apt to become a little too shrill, as if it 
were indignantly protesting against being confined in so 
narrow a space, but this is not the case with my bird, 
whose notes are remarkably soft and dulcet. I suppose 
it is mere sentiment for me to say that I could never 
bring myself to eat larks in a pie, or roasted before the 
fire, which I regarded as ba]barism. I would as soon eat 
canaries, which I never heard are served up as delicacies 
on rich men’s tables. Big birds I like, but these tiny 
creatures, which in my mind are associated with blue 
clouds and flowers and summer days, should be allowed to 
go free to gladden the world with their harmony. You 
will see by this remark that I am no better than my 
neighbors, and that I preach what I do not practise ; other- 
wise I should open the cage of my lark, whose outdoor life 
is passed just below my bedroom window, and who wakes 
me in the morning to remind me that the most beautiful 
part of the day is waiting for me. It is a summons not to 
be neglected, so up I get and work in the garden till 
George, or the little maid in our service, comes and tells 
me that breakfast is ready. 

This chat about larks is wandering away a bit from 
Mr. Haldane’s note, but I promise you I’ll not digress from 
what I have to tell oftener than I can help, for I know 
from experience how tantalising it is to have the interest 
of a story interfered with by matter that does not pro- . 
perly belong to it. 

Well, as I was saying, when I went into the garden the 
lark w^as piping away most industriously, just as though *^ 
it was training for a singing match, and hoped to win for - 
its master a sum of money, or a belt, or a plated tankard, and 
it continued to pipe as I trod the new gravel dowui. But 
suddenly it stopped, and the silence that ensued was so) 
surprising that I stopped too, and my brown study came to 
an end. However, I had not even then made up my mindj 
about Mr. Haldane’s note, and my fingers were in my 
pocket twiddling it at the very moment that George 
walked out of the house and joined me. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


5 


Hallo, George,” said I. 

“ Hallo, father,” said he. 

George is the only child I have, and but for him I 
should not have read the note twice over, and should not 
have paced the garden in a brown study. 

Let me set things clear about myself and him — as to 
what kind of persons we are, I mean. 

As a young man I started upon the active duties of life 
in the service of Her Gracious Majesty ; enamoured of red 
coats and drums I enlisted for a soldier, and being wounded 
in one of our little wars in Africa was sent home invalided, 
unfit for further service. Two of my fingers were am- 
putated, and I could not handle a musket. Then somehow 
I became associated with an old friend, who kept a private 
inquiry office. It luckily happened about that time that a 
small legacy fell to me, and my old friend proposed that I 
should invest it in his business and become a partner. I 
agreed, and we were so successful that I retired at the end 
of sixteen years with an income sufficient for my wants. 
The business is still carried on by my partner in his own 
name, Barlow, with a Co. tacked to it. My name, Milling- 
ton, was never used in the concern. When I sailed from 
England for Africa I left a wife and child behind me, and 
when I returned my wife was dead, which was a severe 
blow, for she was a good creature, and we loved each other. 
But my child George was spared, and a great blessing the 
young fellow has been to me. 

He is a working carpenter, in favour with his employers, 
as he deserves to be, being a good workman, sober, steady, 
and loyal. A year or so before I received Mr. Haldane’s 
note my lad was sent down to Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park, 
to assist in some alterations there. He was away three 

J months, and he came back mad in love with a maid in the 
service of Mr. Haldane’s only daughter. Miss Agnes Hal- 
dane. What had passed between George and pretty Rachel 
"Diprose — for pretty she undeniably was according to the 
picture which George brought home — I did not exactly 
know, but I had an uncomfortable suspicion that the girl 
' was playing fast and loose with him, as girls often do with 


6 


TIES, HUMAN AND .DIVINE. 


straightforward men like my lad. They corresponded, 
George writing once a week, and Rachel about once in 
three, which I did not consider fair ; but George saw 
nothing unfair in it, and was wild with delight when a 
letter arrived for him from Chudleigh Park. He did not 
show the letters to me, nor did I expect he should. One 
reason, I think, why I was suspicious of Rachel Diprose 
was that she wrote too good a hand for a lady’s maid. It 
is an odd confession, but I should have been better pleased 
if she had written more like a servant who had received 
an imperfect education. I don’t pretend to justify my feel- 
ings towards Rachel upon evidence so slight, but it is right 
to be fair and square upon such matters. 

I had, as was to be expected, a great desire to see the 
girl who, if my boy’s hopes were to be realised, was to be- 
come my daughter-in-law, but she had no friends in London, 
and had, in fact, never been in the city. Consequently 
there was no house in which she could stop except at an inn 
or a lodging-house, which would not be proper for a single 
young girl. It would not do to ask her to stop in mine, 
there being no elderly female to look after her, and George 
sleeping in it — though, for the matter of that, he could have 
got a room elsevrhere ; but I decided that it would not do. 
Mother Grundy, who is as ill-natured and cross-grained in 
Shepherd’s Bush, where George and I live, as in Mayfair, 
would have been up in arms, and all sorts of things would 
have been said. Nor would it look well for me to go 
expressly to Chudleigh Park to take observations of Rachel 
Diprose. She might think I was come to spy upon her, for 
the purpose of seeing if she was good enough for my lad, 
and this was a proceeding which any girl of spirit would ^ 
resent. Rachel had a spirit of her own ; I gathered that i 
from George’s talk of her ; and I didn’t think any the worse) 
of her because of it. She would be all the more likely to«J 
grow into a sensible woman, able to manage a house andj 
family. Then there was another difficulty. Although the. 
young people corresponded with each other I could not get 
George to tell me whether there was really and positively 
a regular engagement between them. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


7 


That is how the matter stood when George joined me 
in the garden, and I don’t think I have wasted many words 
in explaining it. 

I’ve got something to tell you, old man,” I said. 

It was a habit of mine, when I was about to speak of 
anything out of the common run to call him old man, and 
George invariably pulled himself together when I so 
addressed him. 

Fire away, father,” he said. 

‘‘I have received a letter from Chudleigh Park,” I said. 

He turned very red in the face. '' From any one in 
particular ?” he asked, trying to speak in a careless tone, 
though his heart was thumping against his waistcoat. 

Yes,” I answered, '' from someone in particular.” 

“ Not from Rachel ! ” he cried. 

“ No, old man, not from her. What should she have to 
write to me about ? It’s from Mr. Haldane.” 

'' Am I concerned in it ? ” 

Not that I know of. He says he would like to see me 
upon business.” 

“ Oh, upon business ; but you have given it up ” 

That’s so, George, but I’ve a great mind to go and see 
what he wants with me.” 

There’s no harm in that.” 

“ Not a bit, and I can kill two birds with one stone.” 

“ What is the other bird, father ? ” 

“Well, old man, I should like to see Rachel, and this 
letter gives me the opportunity. If you’ve any objection, 
I won’t go.” 

“What objection can I have ? I want you to see her.” 
And then he broke out into rhapsodies, which I listened to 
with patient affection. 

“Did I ever tell you,” I said, when he had run himself 
out, that I had some acquaintance with Mr. Haldane 
when I was partner in Barlow & Co. ? ” 
i “No; I was not aware of it.” 

■' “ There was no occasion to mention it. He put some 

jommissions in our way, and what we did for him was 
tonfidential.” 


I 

8 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

“ Of course ; and you’re not the man to betray a con- 
fidence.” 

I hope not, my lad ; but it’s not so much for his sake 
as for yours that I am inclined to go to Chudleigh Park.”| 

‘‘ It is very good of you, father. Yes, go.” 

“Give the subject a little thought, old man. When 
am at Manor Hall, Rachel will be sure to hear my name.” 

“ I suppose she will.” 

“ And she’ll be sure to recognize it.” 

“ I suppose so.” 

‘‘ Even if she did not, it would look strange for me to 
go and come away without introducing myself to her. It 
would make it rather awkward when we meet at some 
future time.” 

“ It would. Just let me think it over.” 

He did as I did when I was in a brown study. He 
paced the nicely gravelled paths up one side and down the^ 
other, and up and down again. The lark was piping all*l 
the time, and had he taken as many turns as I did, would*' 
have stopped short, and pulled him up, as it did me. ’But*' 
George came to the end of his brown study quicker than*** 

I did. . . I 

‘‘ I ought not to keep you in the dark,” he said, taking 
me by the elbow joint, and setting me slowly in motion — -J' 
there is just room in the paths for the pair of us to walk 
side by side. You want to know how it stands between"” 
Rachel and me.” . fl 

“ It would be the best, old man, before I start. I should 
know then where I was.” f | 

Well, father, this is how it stands,” said George, for al^ 
the world as if he was going to tell me something quite ' 
new ; “ I love Rachel dearly.” 9 

‘‘ Yes, old man.” ■ 

“ And I have told her so.” ■ 

‘‘ When you were at the Hall, George ? ” I remarked. I 
“ Yes, father.” I 

“ And since then in your letters to her ? ” I 

‘‘Yes. It seems to me,” he said, with a tender laugM 
“that I am always telling her. And she loves me.” ■ 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


9 


‘' four heart being set upon her, I am glad to hear it/' 
She is the dearest, sweetest girl in all the world,” 
Cried he, enthusiastically, ‘‘ and I have only one object in 
life — to make her my wife.” 

I confess that a little jealous twinge smote me at these 
words. He had only one object in life — pretty Rachel Diprose. 
Then I, his father, to whom he was dearer than life itself, 
was nothing by the side of this girl, who had stolen his 
heart from me. My twinge of jealousy was natural, but I 
am thankful to say it did not last long. Was it not in the 
course of nature ? Did I not love the girl I married better 
than all the rest of the world ? Would not I have given 
up parents, brothers, sisters, and all my other relations, for 
the sake of the girl who had stolen my heart ? I cooled 
down, and looked at the matter in a more sensible light. 
You will never forget me, George ? ” 

Forget you, dear old dad,’’ he cried, somewhat 
rejoroachfully. Why, how i|S that possible ? The dearest 
father a fellow ever had ! ” He put his lips to my face and 
kissed me. Some persons think it unmanly for a man to 
kiss a man ; I do not, when the men are father and son. 

Now, put that out of your head once and forever.” 

I do, my dear boy. I am a stupid old ass.” 

Stow it, father.^’ 

"'I am — to be jealous of a girl who is going to make 
my lad happy. I hope she’ll be worthy of you, 
George.” 

I hope I may be worthy of her. When you see her, 
you will say the same.” (As if that was likely. As if to 
see a woman was to prove her worth — woman who has 
been likened to a chameleon, and her tears to a crocodile’s ! 
Not that I entertain a poor opinion of the sex ; but in the 
cose of Rachel Diprose, I would wait before I passed 
judgment.) “Now I will explain,” continued George, 
iritis like this. We love each other truly, but when 1 
opea.k to her of a regular engagement, and of a ring — which 
iTve got in my pocket, having taken the measure of her 
Snger — she says, ‘ No, George, if we were regularly engaged 
you v'ould have a right to call upon me to marry you. And 


10 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I never intend to marry — never, George, though I love you 
dearly — till my young lady is happily settled.' " 

‘‘ Isn't that rather hard on you ? " I asked. 

I should have preferred it the other way," he replied, 
with a cheerful smile. But I love her all the more for 
her faithfulness to Miss Haldane. It isn't a bad quality, 
is it, dad ?" 

It is a very fine quality," I answered. Perhaps you 
can tell me whether there is any likelihood of Miss Haldane 
being soon happily settled ? " 

‘‘I don't quiteknow," said George,ratherruefully. Things 
seem a bit muddled. What Rachel lets out to me is priv- 
ate, and mustn't be mentioned ; but I've got an idea that . 
Mr. Haldane wants his daughter to marry a gentleman she 
doesn't care for." 

That's bad. Has she set her heart on someone else? " 
George pursed his lip, and I did not press the pointo I 
shall start for Chudleigh Park to-morrow." ‘ 

“ All right, father. Give Rachel my love, and say 1 m : 
longing to see her. O, I may as well tell you that there's | 
to b^e fine doings in the park to-morrow. It's Miss Hal-| 
dane’s birthday, and there'll be games and prizes, and cakef 
and tea for the people in the village. You will be there! 
in time for all the fun of the fair." f 


t 


CHAPTER II. 

It would be difficult to find in all Buckinghamshire, where ? 
it is situated, and indeed in all England, a more pictur- / 
esque and finer estate than Chudleigh Park. My training was | 
not a literary one, and I haven't the gift of describing 
scenery well, men and women being more in my way, but * 
you may be able to draw the picture for yourself out of W 
the following bald material. An enclosed park of a hun- 
dred acres or so, at the principal gate of which is thej 
keeper's lodge, an ivy-covered cottage twinkling with*^ 
diamonded windows. There are footpaths in all directions^ 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


11 


and a broad carriage-road leads to the doors of the old 
Manor House, which is built in the Tudor style. The 
spaces of grass and velvet moss stretching around as far 
as one can see are wonderfully well kept, not the least sign 
of litter or disorder meeting the eye whichever way it 
•^urns. Upland and lowland are dotted with fine old oaks, 
and on the east side of the park, where it joins Chudleigh 
Woods, is a broad lake covered with lilies. Midway across 
this lake a rustic bridge saves you the trouble of walking 
to either end, and the moment you are on the other side you 
plunge into the tangles of a lovely English forest. It is of 
vast extent, stretching for miles ; there are acres of foreign 
ferns, and acres of wild fiowers, and it would be hard to 
say at which period of the year the woods are most beautiful. 

This is about as much as I am able to set down of the 
beauties of Mr. Haldane’s estate. Many a man feels what 
!he cannot describe, and that is the case with me, but I think 
I have said enough to show that Chudleigh Park is a place 
in which Nature seems to invite a man to happiness. But 
black care finds its way into palaces as well as into 
hovels, and I am not at all sure with respect to this 
visitor, whether the poor man’s abode hasn’t the best of it. 

I had written to Mr. Haldane to say that I was coming 
id own to Chudleigh Park, but as I did not mention the 
time or day of my arrival I felt myself free for a few hours 
when I reached the village. This enabled me to view the 
festivities in which the inhabitants were indulging. It was 
ft declared holiday all over the place, and I found myself 
in the midst of the familiar features of a country fair. 
Bather a second-hand exhibition, it is true, but there was 
110 lack of fun. Some caravans had come, and were doing 
good business. The outside shows, of course, were the 
main attraction. There were the fat woman and the man 
. ikeleton, and the coil of deadly cobras ; there were clowns, 
{jind dwarfs, and giants, and acrobats; and there was a 
y timer of wild beasts, with his foot on a tiger, holding two 
^iiions by the throat, and glaring at a dozen others, who, 
!i; Wt for his eagle eye, would have torn him to pieces. Mak- 
||ll|g my way through these temptations, I reached the lodge 


12 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


gates and passed into the park which surrounded the 
Manor House. There the entertainments were of a higher 
quality. A programme had been drawn out and printed, 
a copy of which I obtained. The chief feature of this pro- 
gramme was prizes for humble people. A cricket match 
was being played, serious and comic races were to be run, 
poles to be climbed, the school children were to sing and 
recite, and there were prizes for everybody it seemed, in 
money and books and articles for home use and decoration. 
Very old and very young people were especially catered 
for. The velvet spaces of the beautiful park were gay 
with flags and carriages and music. Some really creditable 
waxworks were being exhibited ; there were two capital 
Punch and Judy shows ; here a conjuror, surrounded by a 
delighted crowd, was displaying his skill, and at a little 
distance was a tent in which a fortune-teller revealed the 
past and foretold the future. In the evening tliere was to 
be a grand open-air tea, at which the inmates of the Manor 
House and their friends would assist, and after sunset there 
was to be a grand display of fireworks. Nothing was 
spared to contribute to the enjoyment of the work and 
tradespeople of the village, and 1 could not help wondering 
at the thoughtfulness and consideration shown in these 
preparations for the humble folk who were in a measure 
dependent upon the family residing in the Manor House 
for any prosperity which might fall to their lot. For I 
had not long been in Chudleigh Park before I learned that 
Mr. Haldane was not merely a rich gentleman living in 
private splendour upon his income ; he was more king than 
master of the vast estate, and he exercised a feudal power 
over those who lived on it. This surprised me, he being a - 
commoner. I was aware that in parts of England there 
were descendants of old families who wielded such a 
power, and whose reign over their lands was as absolute as 
that of a monarch, but that a commoner should do so was 
a new experience to me. I heard Mr. Haldane spoken of 
as a proud and haughty gentleman, arrogant, intolerable^ 
and dangerous to thwart, as one who was feared rather 


than loved. What, then, was the secret of this opeuj 


ilES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


13 


hearted holiday-making, in which a sympathetic desire to 
make those beneath him happy was so conspicuous ? I 
soon discovered how this came about. The credit did not 
belong to Mr. Haldane, but to his daughter Agnes. From 
what I gathered, the whole idea and the carrying o£ it out 
were her work. A special celebration of her birthday being 
promised her, she had succeeded in obtaining from her 
father another promise that the manner of its celebration 
should be entirely of her choosing. These promises given, 
Mr. Haldane did not recede from them when his daughter 
laid her plans before him ; it is not in my power to say 
whether he acceded graciously to the programme, but 
I accede he did, and the result was before me. Of course, in 
i arriving at this definite conclusion I had to exercise my 
judgment and to place constructions upon chance remarks 
I heard as I strolled through the grounds, but I had not the 
' least doubt that I had hit the nail on the head. 
Wherever I went I heard nothing but praise of Miss 
Haldane’s sweetness and goodness, and it was something in 
i favor of Rachel Diprose that she should be so firmly 
attached to a mistress for whom every one had a good 
word. 

“ Bless her sweet face ! ” said an old woman. She’s an 
angel from heaven !” And then she recounted a story of 
kind deeds which made my heart warm as I listened with 
my back partly turned, for I did not wish to draw attention 
Upon myself. There was no harm in my listening ; what 
tlie old dame said was for everybody’s ears, and her grati- 
tude was so profound that she would have trumpeted it 
to all the world had it been in her power. Her story was 
followed by others from those who had received kindnesses 
nt Miss Haldane’s hands. Generally in such scenes there is 
to be detected an element of dissent or discontent fpym 
iOme carper, a discordant note which mars the harmony, 
jhut it was not so here : the affection expressed for the 
^ung lady at the Manor House was perfect and sincere. 

^ This set me thinking. Hitherto I had felt no curiosity 
concerning the unrevealed matter of business upon which 
;[ had been summoned to Chudleigh Park, and I had 

I 


14 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


assented to Mr. Haldane’s request to see me for the sole 
reason that I desired to make the acquaintance of Rachel 
Diprose and judge for myself whether she was a girl likely 
to make my son happy. But now my attention wandered 
from her to the master of the estate. I had become inter- 
ested in his daughter, and should be glad of an opportu- 
nity to serve her. Why this thought should obtrude itself 
in connection with my mission, the particulars of which I 
had yet to learn, I may be permitted to explain. 

Mr. Haldane had requested me to call upon him on a 
little matter of business. Well and good ; that sounded 
innocent enough, and as if there was not much in it. But 
I knew better ; my experience had taught me that there 
must be a great deal in it. Mr. Haldane wished to see me, 
and had selected me as his agent, because of my previous 
connection with a private inquiry office which had already 
executed some commissions for him. Now, when a gen- 
tleman goes to such a source for assistance, the matter he 
discloses is in every instance a private matter which he is 
anxious to keep from public knowledge, and in nearly 
every instance which he wishes to keep from the know- 
ledge of his immediate family. I use the words “ imme- 
diate family ” advisedly, my connection with the firm ofi 
Barlow & Co., apart from my experience of human nature^ 
having taught me a great deal which would greatly dis-j 
turb persons of a delicate turn of mind to know. What 
concerns the gentleman directly concerns his immediate 
family indirectly; if he fears exposure, be sure there iSj 
some disgrace attaching to it, and disgrace to him means] 
disgrace to them. Why, there are numbers of offices in* 
London which are filled with ghosts and skeletons. You 
enter one and see neatly arranged on shelves a number of 
tin boxes, each securely locked, and each with a name or 
mark upon it, denoting to whom it belongs. The place 
you stand in is a sepulchre. The boxes, smothered with 
dust, upon which you gaze, are coffins in which ugly skele- 
tons are buried. Open one and up the mystery jumps and 
stares you in the face, shocking your sensibilities and 
causing you to raise your hands in amazement at the 


TIES, HUMAN AN! DIVINE. 


15 


revelation. What ! Your old friend, whose name shall 
not be mentioned here, who poses before the world as the 
pink of morality, as a man of stainless character and honor, 
a philanthropist, perhaps, or a statesman, or a teacher of 
morals, whose homilies upon conscience edify the public — - 
is it possible that he could have been guilty of this foul 
wrong ? Quite possible, my friend. Do not be too curious 
to pry into the hidden life of the man or woman in whose 
society you delight, and whose presence in your home 
gives pleasure to you and your wife and children. Turn 
your eyes inwards, and let sleeping ghosts lie. 

And here a word in self-defence. I am aware that 
harpies are everywhere to be found whose aim it is to dis- 
cover some incident in a man’s career which does not 
reflect credit upon him, and the knowledge of which may 
be used as a means of extorting money from him, under 
threat of exposure. Unfortunately there are few persons 
of middle age who have not at some time or other been 
guilty of error, and a wide field is therefore open to these 
human vultures, who thrive upon the folly and misery of 
their fellow creatures. I could mention the names of 
established firms who make a specialty of this kind of 
discreditable business. Men and women who have been 
more sinned against than sinning are hunted down, and 
so tortured and robbed and threatened that their lives are 
made one long despair. I wish some fitting punishment 
could be devised for the mongrels who pursue these 
methods, but i fear that erring human nature will con- 
tinue to supply them with the weapons with which they 
fight their infamous battles. On the other hand, there are 
firms whose business is carried on in a fashion as honor- 
able as its peculiar nature will allow, and who would as 
soon commit murder as trade upon the secrets which come 
into their possession. The confidences entrusted to them 
are sacred. Such a firm is Barlow & Co.; its transactions 
have always been conducted in a respectable and honorable 
■pirit, and I, as once a member of it, and speaking for 
fcose who now conduct it, say that th^y or I would scorn 


16 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


affairs have been confided to our keeping. So much for 
myself. I have never done, and never shall do, anything 
of which I have reason to be ashamed. Even if I had no 
son George to keep me straight I should not wander into 
crooked paths, whatever temptation might be held out to 
me. 

Well, then, I argued this way. Mr. Haldane had 
sought my services in a matter which, dragged before the 
public, would cause unhappiness to the young lady who 
seemed to be loved by everyone who knew her, and who 
was spoken of as an angel from heaven. Interested in 
her happiness was a young girl my son George worshipped. 
For his sake, for my own, for the sake of Rachel Diprose, 
and last, but not least, for the sake of sweet Miss Haldane, 
I would undertake the task which Mr. Haldane had it in 
his mind to entrust to me. When Miss Haldane was hap- 
pily settled Rachel would consent to make my George 
happy. It was clearly my duty, therefore, to do what I 
could towards Miss Haldane’s happy settlement in life. A 
roundabout way of reasoning, I dare say, and founded 
upon mere conjecture. How far I was right or wrong will 
be seen as we go on. 

I had wandered out of the beaten paths during my 
musings, and now I wandered into them again, and mixed 
with the holiday folk. Hearing the voices of children 
singing I walked forward and stood on the outskirts of the 
circle of people who were listening to the pleasant per- 
formance. The school children were marshalled in order, 
and had just commenced what I afterwards was told was 
an original song composed by a local poet in honor of 
Miss Haldane, set to an original air.* composed by the local 
organist. It being impracticable to bring an organ into 
the park, the organist, who conducted his own composition, 
had provided himself with a violin, upon which he per- 
formed to my satisfaction — not that I am much of a judge 
— and apparently to the satisfaction of the gentry who 
stood upon the rise of a green hill, witnesses of the pretty 
scene. The children, who all had new frocks on, had been 
carefully drilled, and sang admirably. The schoolmaster 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


17 


kept them in line, and the organist flourished his bow ; and 
standing by himself was the local poet, with his hands 
clasped, listening to his verses in a state of agonised rap- 
ture, convinced, no doubt, that the eyes of the world were 
upon him. The song being ended, there was a great deal 
of applause, in which the gentry joined with animation, 
talking and smiling among themselves, and then, from the 
general body of the audience came one bold voice, which 
cried Ong-kore,’’ for which the village butcher was 
responsible. The poet bowed, and then blushed violently, 
the bold cry was taken up by one and another, faintly at 
first, but presently — seeing that the gentry were nod- 
ding their heads and clapping their hands — with more 
vigor. The organist raised his bow, there was instant sil- 
ence, and after whispered instructions from the school- 
mistress to the children, the song was sung again, and 
finished amidst uproarious demonstrations of approval. 
One of the children who sang the solo part was called up 
to the gentry, and a young lady presented her with a 
book. Who this young lady was was made clear to me by 
the local butcher calling out, Three cheers for Miss Hal- 
dane,'' which were lustily and heartily given without 
regard to the number. The village people waved hats and 
handkerchiefs, and would have cried themselves hoarse had 
not the fugleman, exhausted with his efforts, come to a 
sudden stop, whereat they followed suit. Partially recov- 
ering, the butcher demanded three cheers for Mr. Hal- 
dane, which also were given, with less heartiness, 
but still with sufficient enthusiasm to satisfy any 
reasonable being. Whether Mr. Haldane was satisfied 
I cannot say; he did not appear to me to take much 
notice, keeping himself in the background, and not coming 
forward to acknowledge the compliment ; but that he was 
not unobservant of those in front of him I presently had 
proof. His daughter, who wore a dress of pure white, 
behaved very differently. She blushed prettily, and nodded 
with much sweetness, and turned to her father with smiles 
»ying something to him, which, of course, at the distance 
I was from her, I could not hear ; but he shook his head 


18 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


and waved his hand, as much much as to say, No, the 
honor is yours : I have no share in it.’’ This may have 
been just, but it was not gracious, I thought. I could not 
dwell upon it, however, for the reason that my attention 
was chiefly fixed upon Miss Haldane. The most beautiful 
season of the year is spring, as it is the most beautiful 
season of life, and surely a sweeter exemplification of this 
was never seen than in the person of Miss Haldane. Her 
face was the loveliest I had ever beheld, and there was a 
quality of goodness in it which attracted me, and com- 
pletely won my heart ; it seemed to influence all surround- 
ing things, and to invest them with something of her own 
charm of sweetness and tenderness. When she dismissed 
the happy child who had sung the solo, she called up the 
organist, a grey-haired man, and said a few words to him 
which brought a light into his eyes, and then, in obedience 
to her command — fov was she not truly queen of these 
pleasant hours ? — the poet came forward to receive his 
meed of praise and thanks. He behaved very sheepishly, 
and scarcely dared to touch the hand she held out to him, 
but the trying and triumphant ordeal was soon over, and 
he retired to dream of future fame and glory. At this 
moment, a man, who had approached me without my observ-|| 
ing him, touched my arm. 

‘‘ You are a stranger here,” he said. 

Yes,” I answered ; “ I only arrived to-day.'’ 

Mr. Haldane,” said the man, has sent me to inquire 
who you are.” 

I took a card from my pocket, on which my name was 
printed, without my address, simply Mr. Millington,” 
and handing it to him, said that perhaps he would take it 
to Mr. Haldane. He looked at it, looked at me, and went 
away, and I saw him give the card to Mr. Haldane. Re- 
turning soon, the man said, 

Mr. Haldane would like to speak to you.” 

I followed him, and observed that Mr. Haldane was 
moving away from his companions, with the evident inten- 
tion of speaking privately to me. Upon our coming to- 
gether, the man who had conducted me stood a little apart 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


19 


I saw you among the people,’' said Mr. Haldane, and 
knew you were a stranger.'' 

'' You have sharp eyes,” I thought, but I said 
nothing to that effect, only that I had written to him that 
I was coming to Chudleigh Park in compliance with his 
request. 

''I received your letter,” he said, ''but you did not 
inform me you were coming to-day.” He paused a moment. 
" I cannot speak to you till to-morrow.” 

"That will be convenient to me, sir,” I said. " I see that 
you have your hands full now.” 

" Yes,” he replied, " and I am afraid we cannot give you 
a bed at the hall. We have a number of guests, and every 
room is occupied.” 

" I can obtain accommodation at the village,” I re- 
marked. 

"No doubt,” he said, and called to the man who had 
brought me to him. "Simpson, see that this gentleman 
has a room somewhere in the village to-night.” 

"Yes, sir,” said Simpson. 

I was surprised at his reference to me as " this gentle- 
man,” but I set it down to his not wishing to make my 
name known. One thing leads to another, you see, and 
when you wish to keep things dark you cannot be too 
careful. But he could not keep my name from Simpson, 
who had seen it on my card. 

" That is all, I think,” said Mr. Haldane. " I shall be 
disengaged to-morrow at twelve.” 

" I will call upon you punctually, sir,” I said. 

He nodded and walked away, but he had not gone a 
dozen yards, before he turned and beckoned to me. I went 
to him, Simpson stopping discreetly at a distance. 

" You need not say anything,” he said, " about my send- 
ing for you.” 

"No one shall know, sir,” I said. 

He nodded again, and walked off, this time for good. 


20 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE, 


CHAPTER HI. 

Simpson did not join me immediately. He waited till 
Mr. Haldane was out of sight, and then he sauntered to- 
wards me with a careless, unconcerned air, as though the 
idea of introducing himself had just occurred to him. 
There is something in the manner and bearing of certain 
classes of men which at once betrays their calling. For 
instance, a jockey. Seeing one even for the first time, who 
could mistake him ? You look at his face, and you wonder 
how he feels off a horse. He is like a sailor walking along 
macadamised roads after a long voyage. A butcher, too. 
It is impossible for him to disguise himself. In private 
life he is generally respectably dressed ; his clothes are 
remarkably new, and his boots and hats have a wonderful 
polish on them; but you cast just one glance at him, and 
you see the inner man, in flannel apron, knife in hand, with 
a buy, buy, buy,” expression on his features. The same 
with valets and body -servants. The nicely smoothed hair, 
the half-sliding, half-confident motion of their bodies, the 
cut of their clothes, when they wear their own, the quietly 
observant eye, unmistakably proclaim their calling. It was 
Simpson s, as I correctly judged ; he was Mr. Haldane's 
valet, and it was not long before he volunteered the infor- 
mation, which was thrown out as a feeler, and as an in- 
vitation to a like confidence on my part. But I was on my 
guard ; my plan was to ask questions, and to answer as few 
as possible. So I fenced and parried, and Simpson made 
no demur. This gave me a high opinion of his abilities, for 
I felt that he was the sort of a man who never neglected 
an opportunity of worming himself into other people's 
secrets ; that he should express no disappointment at my 
curt answers proved him to be something better than a 
novice. 

All this time you may be sure I had not forgotten Rachel 
Diprose, but I had seen no one answering to the description 
my son George had given of her, or resembling the portrait 


TIES, HUMAN and DIVINE. 


21 


he had in his possession ; and it occurred to me that Simp- 
son was the man to enlighten me as to what kind of girl 
she was. I was not the first to mention her name, but I 
led the way to his introducing it into the conversation. 
Upon my prompting he furnished me with an account of 
the domestics in Mr. Haldane's establishment, from the 
housekeeper and butler downwards ; he told me their 
several names, and I noticed, when he mentioned Rachel 
Diprose, that there was just that difference in his tone 
which denoted that she was a person who held a special 
place in his mind. It is by these apparently trifling 
indications that men who call themselves thought-readers 
are assisted in arriving at successful conclusions. The 
change in Simpson's voice when the name of Rachel Diprose 
passed his lips set me thinking a bit, of course in the inter- 
ests of my son, and I began to spe-culate whether Simpson 
was a married man. 

'' The housekeeper and butler are married, I think you 
said ? " 

This was the first remark I made towards ascertaining 
Simpson's own state in life. 

Yes," he answered. 

That must make it comfortable for them," I observed. 
'' Good situations, everything provided for them, no butchers' 
bills to pay, and putting by a pound now and then for a 
rainy day." 

‘‘They've nothing to complain of,” said Simpson. 

“ Some gentlemen,” I said, “object to keeping married 
people in their employ, but Mr. Haldane is more liberal- 
minded.” 

“ That doesn't prove liberal-mindedness. ” 

“Perhaps not; I'm speaking in a general way. Now, 
you ” — and I cocked my eye knowingly and reflectively at 
him — “ I should take you to be a married man, with a 
charming wife and family.” 

“ There you're wrong. I'm a single man.” 

“ All the more agreeable for you,” I said, shifting my 
ground. “ There you are, a bachelor, with a lot of nice girls 
about him that he can pick and choose from. You must be 




TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


in clover. There’s pretty Rachel Diprose, now, a favorite 
with her young mistress, and I’ll wager with a bit of money 
put by.” 

He looked at me, seemed suddenly to remember some- 
thing, and instantly shut up. Which caused me presently 
to drift, quite naturally, into other subjects. 

We had walked out of the park and into the village while 
we were conversing, and Simpson stopped before a public- 
house called '' The Brindled Cow.” 

You can a get bed here,” he said. ^ I’ll come in with 
you and make it all right with the landlord.” 

And perhaps,” I said, you won’t mind taking a drink 
with me. I feel a little strange, being in a strange part of 
the country, and shall be glad of company. If ever you 
come to London we might spend an evening together.” 

I wanted to dispel any bad impression I might have 
produced upon him, but if I had thought twice I should 
not have thrown out the hint. He took it up quickly. 

I’ll drink with you with pleasure,” he said ; “ and I’ll 
spend an evening with you in London when I’ve got one to 
spare. What’s your address ?” 

I was fairly beaten, I own, and, without giving him 
offence, could not refuse to tell him where I lived. So at 
his request I wrote the address in a pocket-book he pro- 
duced. Then we went into the “ public.” 

The arrangement for a bed was soon made, Simpson 
saying a few words apart to the landlord ; after which I 
inquired what particular tipple my new friend preferred, 
and asked the landlord to join us. 

Spirits just before going to bed,” said Simpson, beer 
in the morning, and port wine in the evening. That’s my 
system. The landlord has a good bottle of port wine in 
his cellar.” 

It being evening now, I called for the bottle of good 
port wine, in accordance with Simpson’s system, and then, 
at his suggestion, we adjourned to a small room in which 
there was a bagatelle table, and began to drink and smoke 
and play. I could have beaten him easily, but to gain his 
favor completely I allowed him to beat me, and as he 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


23 


pocketed the twopences for which we played I saw that 
losing was a winning game for me. I drove another nail 
in by remarking that I had had no dinner, and asking 
would he join me. Certainly he would, he replied; it was 
all hurry-scurry up at the Hall ; and if I wanted to know 
what duck and green peas were like, the landlord of '"The 
Brindled Cow ” would show me. 

“ When he puts his mind to it,’’ said Simpson, he can 
serve up a dinner fit for any gentleman in the land.” 

So the dinner was ordered, and we continued to play 
bagatelle till it was ready. 

You’re a man after my own heart,” said Simpson, as 
he polished off the choicest slices of the duck, and ladled 
down the green peas, which really were delicious. '' I 
didn’t take to you at first, but it shows how a man may be 
mistaken. What’s all that row about outside ? ” 

The landlord, who had entered to attend to our w^ants, 
replied that Miss Haldane had come from the park to the 
village, to see how the people were enjoying themselves ; 
but the sounds we heard were the reverse of festive. A 
woman’s shrill voice and excited murmurs reached our ears. 
Simpson went to the window, and exclaimed — 

“ By the Lord ! It’s that girl Honoria come back ! 
There’s mischief brewing.” 

And out he went, leaving, to my surprise, some dainty 
morsels on his plate. I hastened after him into the narrow 
street, and, keeping close to him, pushed my way through 
a number of people gathered round two women, whom 
they hemmed in. One was a woman of middle age, and it 
was her shrill voice I had heard. She was standing over 
the form of another female, poorly dressed, whose crouch- 
ing attitude prevented me from seeing her features. 

“ Here she is, the slut ! ” cried the angry woman. 

Here she is, come back with her shame and her brazen 
face ! She commenced young enough, didn’t she ? But 
j young as she is, she’s old enough for sin. Have you 
brought a baby with you, you huzzy, or have you dropp e 
it in the water ? Where are my earrings and brooch y o 
> stole before you ran away, you thief, you ? Isn’t there a 


24 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


policeman here to take the drab into custody ? Til drag 
her to prison with my own hands if no one dl help me ! ” 
Thus she went on, screaming at the top of her voice, 
and had it not been for me would have laid violent hands 
upon the frightened creature she was reviling and accus- 
ing. She paused to recover her breath, and as she did so 
some person said — 

‘‘ Hush ! Miss Haldane is coming.” 

There was a sudden stillness, and the ranks opened for 
the young lady to pass through. She came close to the 
accuser and the accused, and, stooping, placed her hand 
upon the shoulder of the crouching figure. At this touch 
the woman raised her head, and seeing who was by her 
side, clutched Miss Haldane’s dress convulsively, as if for 
protection from the enemies who surrounded her. The 
upraised face was wild, and full of anguish and terror, but 
it was scarcely less beautiful than that of her saviour. 

“ Oh, Honoria, Honoria !” murmured Miss Haldane, and 
she knelt and drew the face of the unfortunate girl to her 
breast. 

There was a heavenly pity in her eyes ; a world of 
tenderness in her voice. An angel from Heaven, indeed, 
was this sweet girl. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A FEW minutes later I was standing by the window of 
the room in which Simpson and I had but partly dined. I 
was waiting for my guest, who had promised to return in 
the course of half an hour to finish his dinner, and so that 
there should be no reproach upon my hospitality I had put 
the sweets and cheese and the watercress back until 
Simpson’s arrival. There was no person in the room but 
myself, and I could have been more sociably employed had I 
descended to the bar of ‘"The Brindled Cow” and mixed with 
my fellow man. But there were drawbacks to this course. 
My fellow man, as he was now represented in the bar of 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINI!. 


25 


the inn, was distinctly noisy and unruly, having drank 
more than was good for him, and I objected to his company 
on that condition. Therefore I was consulting my inclina- 
tion in avoiding him, and I was lonely from choice. 

What had occurred with respect to the incident referred 
to at the end of the last chapter was this : 

When Miss Haldane drew the face of Honoria to her 
breast shielding her, as it were, from the fury of the woman 
who was accusing her, she looked up at the people who 
surrounded them. Not one in the crowd spoke a word, and 
the only sounds that were heard proceeded from the sob- 
bing girl who lay in the arms of her protector. Presently 
Miss Haldane, whispering something in Honoria’s ear, rose, 
holding Honoria’s hand, who rose with her. The expression 
on Miss Haldane’s face as she looked around, was one of 
reproach and pity. Honoria s head was sunk low upon her 
bosom, and she did not once lift it. Miss Haldane’s silent 
appeal to the villagers caused them to fall apart, and a free 
passage was opened for the two girls, who passed through 
it slowly and in silence. They walked through the narrow 
street in the direction of the park, and in a few moments 
were out of sight. Only one person followed them, walk- 
ing some distance behind. This person was Simpson. He 
had warranty for his action, being a servant in the Haldane 
family, and to a certain extent, as I felt, in their confidence. 
I had no warranty to follow his example ; as a stranger, 
my intrusion would have been naturally resented. Never- 
theless I was more than curious to learn the story which I 
knew was attached to the singular and exciting incident. 

It was an hour before Simpson rejoined me, and he came 
into the room briskly. There was satisfaction in his eyes 
as he observed that the cloth was still on the table. 

That’s all over,” he said, '' and now I suppose we can 
finish our dinner.” 

“ Yes,” I said. '' I ordered them to keep the sweets hot, 
but the duck must be cold by this time.” 

'' Cold duck is delicious,” said the voracious Simpson. 
'' Let’s have it up.” 

What remained of the duck was put upon the table, and 


26 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Simpson was mainly instrumental in polishing it off. Then 
we had the sweets, then the cheese and watercress, and the 
bottle of port being finished, I called for another. It had 
the effect of making Simpson mellow — and communicative. 
So communicative, indeed, that he opened the subject him- 
self. 

“ That was a curious scene,’’ he remarked. 

It was,” I said. Miss Haldane has a kind heart.” 

‘‘ A lady may go too far, though,” he observed. A 
grudging comment which led me to conclude that 
Simpson’s nature was more practical than sentimental. I 
can understand people with third class tickets trying to 
get into first-class carriages, but I am hanged if I can 
understand the other way of things.” 

There certainly can be no doubt,” I said, that Miss 
Haldane is first class, and the girl with the strange name 
third.” 

It is a strange name,” said Simpson; all very well for 
a lady, but it’s handicapping a common girl too heavily, 
likely to turn her head, you know. I wonder where slie’s 
been all this time.” 

She belongs to the village,” I hazarded. 

“ In a sort of fashion. She’s lived here long enough.” 

Her parents must be dreadfully cut up.” 

She hasn’t any.” 

They are spared the shame of the disgrace, then,” I 

said. 

How ?” asked Simpson. 

‘‘ Being dead,” I replied. 

“ Didn’t I tell you she had none ?” 

‘‘ O,” I said, but that makes her case more pitiable.” 

I can’t quite see that. I’ve my own ideas. A fine-looking 
girl, Millington,” said Simpson, becoming suddenly fami- 
liar, which I set down to the wine. 

‘'I just caught a glimpse of her.” Half-a-dozen of 
the Brindled Cow’s” best cigars were brought in, at my 
order. “ Do you smoke ? ” 

“ Every gentleman smokes. Thank you. As I said, a 
fine-looking girl. A saucy face — and such eyes! A dif- 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


27 


ferent kind of beauty from Miss Haldane’s, but some pre- 
fer one sort, some another. I like ’em dapperer and 
trimmer, not so brunetty.” 

‘‘Is there any truth in the accusation the woman 
brought against her ? ” 

“There is no saying. She might have taken the 
brooch and earrings, then again she mightn’t. She was 
fond of finery, and that tells against her, There’s no fear 
of her being put in prison ; she’s lucky in having a lady 
like Miss Haldane on her side. If it was her father, it 
would be another pair of shoes. He isn’t soft-hearted, not 
a bit of it. He’d give her three months, and take a pleas- 
ure in it. Would you like to hear the story ? ” 

“ These stories are always interesting,” I said ; “doubly 
so when they are told over a friendly glass.” 

“There’s a mystery about her birth,” said Simpson, who 
was in the humor to hear himself talk. “ Seven miles from 
here lies the village of Bittern, a quarter the size of this. 
Seventeen or eighteen years ago a woman comes from some- 
where, and takes a cottage that’s to let there. Four shillings a 
week she pays for it ; three rooms, bedroom, parlor, and 
kitchen. She brings with her a baby, this same Honoria. 
No one knows anything about the woman, and as a matter 
of course it is supposed that the child is her own. She 
doesn’t say anything about it herself, but it’s taken for 
granted. The woman pays her rent regularly, does no 
work, and lives a little better than her neighbors. How 
does she pay her way ? Regular as clockwork she receives 
every Tuesday morning a postoffice order for eighteen shil- 
lings, which leaves fourteen her shillings a week to live on, 
after paying her rent. With only a baby to keep she can 
manage very well upon that. After a while it comes to be 
understood that Honoria is not her own child, and that 
she is taking care of her for somebody. It is nobody’s 
business, and nobody has anything to say about it ; and 
so the woman and child live in the cottage till Honoria 
is seven years old. Before she gets to that age something 
occurs; it is noticed that the eighteen shillings a week does 
not come as regularly as it used to. Sometimes it is two 


28 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


or three days late, sometimes it doesn^t come at all. How 
that gets to be known is through the baker, who keeps 
the postoffice, and who cashes the postoffice orders the 
woman receives. A year later, when Honoria is eight, 
something of more importance occurs. The woman dis- 
appears and Honoria is left to take care of herself. Sha is 
too young to do that, and so she becomes a waif and a 
stray, picking up a bit of grub here, and a bit of grub 
there, and sleeping anywhere and everywhere. When the 
woman disappears she is in arrears for rent, and her few 
bits of sticks are sold to settle arrears ; then the cottage 
is let to somebody else, and Honoria is thrown pretty well 
stark naked on the world. There’s no saying what would 
have become of her if it hadn’t been for Miss Haldane, 
who was no older than Honoria at the time, but who, rid- 
ing through Bittern, sees a little child sitting by a hedge, 
sobbing her heart out. Down my young lady insists upon 
getting, and she goes up to Honoria, just as she did outside 
an hour ago, and sits down by her side, and gives her some 
sweets, and winds up by bringing Honoria into the car- 
riage, and riding back with her here to Chudleigh. If Miss 
Haldane had been riding with her father this wouldn’t have 
happened, because he’s not given to noticing poor people, 
but there was only the nurse in the carriage wdth my 
young lady, and so she had her way. Now I come into the 
story. Mr. Haldane sends for me, and says that his 
daughter has brought some wretched child into the village, 
and asks me to find out who she is. That is how I 
got the particulars I’ve just told you of. While I was 
gathering them Honoria is kept with the servants at 
the Hall, and Miss Haldane insists upon looking after her, 
and does all sorts of absurd things. If she had been 
allowed to have her own way entirely Honoria would have 
slept with her, but they put a stopper to that. Mr. Hal- 
dane, I think, saw Honoria once, but I am not sure about 
that, and it isn’t of any consequence. I came back with my 
report, and Mr. Haldane said that Honoria couldn’t keep 
at the Hall, and that I’d better find some woman in the 
village, who, for two or three shillings a week, would take 


TIES, HOTiAW^ ATO DIVINE. 


29 


(3ai^ of the child. That wasn’t a difficult matter, and Hon- 
oriagoes to live with Mrs. Porter, the woman who says she’s 
been robbed of her brooch and earrings. Till Honoria is 
twelve years old the steward gives me the money every 
week to pay Mrs. Porter, but then Miss Haldane, who has 
more pocket money than she knows what to do with, 
takes the matter out of the steward’s hands, and settles 
with Mrs. Porter herself. And a pretty penny Mrs. Porter 
makes out of her, if I’m not mistaken, for though Miss 
Haldane has a decided way of her own when she makes 
up her mind, she’s not up to the dodges of such a woman 
as Mrs. Porter. Simple-looking as she is, she’s only to be 
turned from her purpose by cunning or by a stronger will 
than her own.” 

Simpson pausing here to pour himself out another glass 
of port, I put in a word. 

Mr. Haldane has a stronger will than his daughter.” 

"'No doubt of that,” said Simpson, holding up his glass 
to the light ; it was now dark, and we had been supplied 
with candles, there being no gas in the village. “ He’s 
master — O, yes, he’s master.” 

“ Why did he allow his daughter to take this delicate 
affair out of his hands, she being at the time only twelve 
years of age ? 

He didn’t trouble himself about it. I don’t know that 
he ever inquired after Honoria, or ever stepped a yard out 
of his road to see her. He had humoured Miss Haldane’s 
fancy, and there was an end of the matter as far as he was 
concerned. Then there’s another thing to be taken into 
account, Millington.^ 

What is that other thing ? ” 

‘‘Human nature.” 

“ I don’t understand you.” 

“ Don’t you ? ” said Simpson, winking at me ; the liquor 
he had imbibed at my expense was certainly sapping his 
discretion. “ It won’t hurt the steward if I speak my 
mind; he’s dead, and left no family behind him. I ll tell 
you what human nature is, it’s number one. I don’t care 
how you look at it or what clothes you put on it, it’s 


80 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


number one. Pick it to shreds, squeeze the superfluous 
stuff out of it, take all the humbug out of it, and what do 
you see ? Number one. Consequently, when Miss Hal- 
dane, young as she was, goes to the steward and says that 
she’s going to pay Mrs. Porter herself out of her private 
little purse, the steward answers, ' Very well, Miss,’ and 
puts the three shillings a week into his pocket. That’s my 
judgment, and I’ll bet five to one I’m right. Any takers ?” 

“ I’m not a betting man.” 

“ I dare say not,” said Simpson, with just a touch of 
maliciousness, “unless you get a certainty. Do you know, 
Millington, I think I’ll indulge in forty winks.” 

“ Finish about Honoria first. Would you like a whisky 
and soda ? ” I rang the bell. 

“ You’re a good sort. I’ll finish Honoria, and then I’ll 
take my nap. It’ll freshen me up for what I’ve got to do 
at the Manor House to-night. There’s a grand ball to be 
given there, and I don’t intend to be out of it. Well, then, 
Honoria grows up, and Miss Haldane grows up, and I never 
saw a lady take such an interest in a poor girl before. She 
gives her dresses and bits of finery, and she has her taught, 
and altogether makes as much of her as if they were equals. 
That’s the way things went on till about this time last 
year. Yes, it’s as near as possible twelve months ago that 
all the village rings with the news that Honoria’s run 
away.” 

“ With whom ? ” 

“ Nobody knows. The only sure thing is that she’s 
gone ; and Mrs. Porter goes about saying that the girl has 
robbed her. She makes out a list of the missing things — 
the brooch, the earrings, a shawl, a pair of boots, and some 
bits of old china.” 

“ In the accusation she brought against Honoria this 
evening,” I remarked, she made no mention of the latter 
articles.” 

“ No, because they were recovered. A tramp who’d 
been seen in the village was taken up a week afterwards, 
and everything but the brooch and earrings was tracked ; 
he had stolen and sold them.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


31 


It stands to reason that he stole the missing things as 
well.’' ** 

Mrs. Porter says no, and sticks to it that Honoria stole 
the jewellery. She never said so in Miss Haldane’s presence, 
so that my young lady has heard of it for the first time.” 

“ I, for one, don’t believe the poor girl is a thief. If she 
were, she would never have shown her face here again. 
What construction, apart from the missing jewellery, was 
put upon her running away ? ” 

Simpson’s blinking eyes were fixed on my face. ''What 
construction would you put upon it ? ” 

" W^ell, well,” I said," we are always ready to be un- 
charitable. But after all, the girl might have left the 
village to better herself.” 

" Honestly ? ” asked Simpson. 

" Yes, honestly,” I replied, feeling nettled with myself 
because of intruding doubts, and knowing that I was only 
championing Honoria for the sake of her one sincere and 
sweet champion. Miss Haldane. 

" You don’t mean it, Millington, you don’t mean it. 
Bring your common sense to bear; bring your knowledge 
of the world to bear. If she had gone away honestly she 
would have left the village in the light of day ; she would 
have said good-bye to her friends. For she had friends — 
plenty of ’em ; we all liked Honoria, more or less. But she 
goes away in the dead of night ; she says good-bye to 
nobody ; and the clerk at the railway station swears she 
didn’t travel to wherever she went by rail. There’s very 
little traffic at the railway station here, and no one in the 
village can go away by train without it’s being known.” 

" How did Miss Haldane take her disappearance ?” 

"Never said a word to any of us about it. She was 
paler and more melancholy than she’d been, especially 
when she passed Mrs. Porter’s door ; and of course none of 
the villagers spoke to her about Honoria. It wouldn’t 
have been fitting, with the thoughts they had of the girl, 
and the judgment they passed upon her.” 

" Miss Haldane might have heard from Honoria.” 

" She might ; but if she did she kept it to herself. 


32 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


The mystery to me is, why she ever came back. If she’d 
had a mother or a father I might have understood it, but 
being a waif and a stray, with no real claim upon anybody, 
there’s no understanding of it. Are you fond of puzzles, 
Millington ? 

'' I used to be.” 

I never was, and always looked upon people as fools 
who wasted their time over ’em. Whenever I was asked 
to do one I gave it up instanter, unless there was some- 
thing hanging to it.” 

‘‘ Something to your own advantage.” 

‘‘ Exactly ! Human nature again. Honoria’s return 
is a puzzle. I give it up. And now, if you’ve no objec- 
tion, I’ll take my forty winks.” 

He lay back in his chair and closed his eyes, with a 
snug expression of satisfaction on his face. Without a 
doubt Simpson was a gentleman on very good terms with 
himself. 1 contemplated him a moment or two in silence. 
What he ha,d imparted to me had increased instead of 
allaying my curiosity. 

“ Simpson,” I said, rather sharply. 

Hallo ! ” he cried, with a start, opening his eyes lazily. 

“Just one question or two before you go off.” 

“ About that girl Honoria ? ” 

“ Yes, about Honoria.” 

“ Bother Honoria,” he said, and closed his eyes again. 

“ Come,” I said, in a coaxing tone, “ like a good fellow 
now. It won’t take you a minute.” 

“ I’m not going to open my eyes again, I tell you that, 
Millington. Well, what is it ? ” 

“ Did she have any sweethearts in the village ? ” 

“ All the young men in the place were sweet on her,” 
he answered, drowsily. “ Eyes like sloes, hair down to the 
waist, cherry lips ” He smacked his own. 

“ Any regular sweethearts, I mean ?” 

“ Not one that she encouraged out and out. Let me go 
to sleep.” 

But I was determined he should not till he had 
answered me, I shook him smartly. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


33 


“ Too bad, Millington ; too bad,'' he murmured. 
'' Where's your consideration ? 

When she disappeared from the village did any one 
else disappear at the same time ? " 

“ Not a living soul, man or woman." 

Did she go to London ? " 

Not knowing, can’t say." 

These four words dropped slowly from his lips, and 
were followed by a snore. Simpson was off. There was 
no getting another word out of him. 


CHAPTER V. 

There was nothing inviting in the prospect of sitting in 
the room with my sleeping guest. I had not fallen in love 
with him while he was awake, and there was less cause for 
sudden affection now that he was in an unconscious state. 
He had a disagreeable habit of snoring and choking as^ he 
slumbered, and his mouth was wide open. Blowing out 
the candles to prevent a possible accident I left the room. 
The village was still in excitement, not occasioned by 
Honoria's return, which was probably put aside as a tit 
bit for quieter hours, but by the celebration of the holiday 
in honor of Miss Haldane. Upon some of the inhabitants 
the celebration had produced the effect of staggering gait 
and thick utterance of speech, but these delinquents, all of 
whom were of the male sex, were being carefully looked 
after by the womankind, and what disorder was apparent 
was of a good-humored kind, and not likely to degenerate 
into anything worse. '' The Brindled Cow " was doing a 
rattling business, which the landlord was attending to with 
tact and conscientiousness, persuading those who had had 
a little more than enough to heed the advice of their wives, 
and go home like good sensible souls, for the sake of them- 
selves and the quality of the Manor House, of whom it 
' was evident they stood in wholesome dread. As I moved 
I among these scenes I could not help reflecting upon the 


34 


TIES, HUMAN AND DlVlxVi:. 


small difference that existed — if indeed there were any 
difference at all — between life in an obscure village like 
this and life in the great Babylon from which I had jour- 
neyed in the morning. There is supposed to be a world 
of meaning in the saying that God made the country and 
man made the town, and many accept it in the light that 
the country is pure and the town vile. It is, however, 
only a question of degree or numbers. In town and coun- 
try human nature is the same, as weak in the fire of 
temptation, as strong in the cause of innocence and virtue. 
What I had witnessed during the last few hours was preg- 
nant proof of this. I thought of Honoria ; of the accusa- 
tion which had been brought against her, and which I felt 
was false ; of the shame to which she had been brought, 
and which I felt was true ; I thought of her champion, in 
whose sweet face shone purity and charity ; I thought of 
the grand ball that was to be given presently at the Manor 
House ; of the joy and gladness that would prevail ; and 
as I dwelt upon the gay scene I saw a despairing girl, to 
whom the world was a prison filled with threatening 
shadows. Virtue and vice, light and darkness, side by side. 

A hand was laid upon my arm. I looked down, and saw 
a comely young woman, who looked up at me demurely. 

“ You were pointed out to me, sir,’’ she said, “ as Mr. 
Millington. It was the landlord of the ‘ Brindled Cow ’ who 
told me; though I should have known you anywhere.” 

Pleasant eyes, pleasant features, and a pleasant voice. 

‘‘ And I should have known you,” I said, holding out 
my hand in a fatherly way, '' wherever I met you. How 
would you have recognised me ? ” 

By your likeness to George. How would you have 
recognised me, sir ? ” 

" By your likeness to the portrait George is never tired 
of gazing at, my dear.” 

'' I am glad to hear that, sir,” said Rachel Diprose. 

“ And I am glad to hear I am like my lad.” 

'' How is George, sir ? ” 

“ He is well, and told me to give you his love. I have 
been wondering when I should see you.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


35 


She moved a little into the light so that I could see her 
quite clearly. It was modestly done, and I was pleased at 
the action. I had had my doubts of Rachel ; they grew 
weak as I gazed upon her pretty face. 

“ Have you come expressly from the Hall to see me ? 

I asked. 

'' Yes, sir.” 

But how did you know I was here ? ” 

“ Through Mr. Simpson, sir.’’ 

''Oh, through Mr. Simpson,” said I,, waiting for an 
explanation. 

" Miss Haldane sent me for you, sir. She wants you to 
do her a service, and I said I was sure you would.” 

" Of course I will, my dear, but still I am puzzled a bit 
how this has come about. Throw a light on it, Rachel.” 

" It was in this way, sir. But we had better Avalk to 
the Hall ; we can talk more comfortably away from the 
crowd.” She took my arm, and we proceeded in the direc- 
tion of the park. "It was in this way, sir. Something 
occurred in the village that has made Miss Haldane very 
sad. I think you were there at the time.” 

I guessed that she referred to Honoria, and I said, 
" Yes, I was there.” She continued : 

" Miss Haldane saw you among the people, and knew 
you were a stranger. She spoke to me about you, and 
wondered who you were. I said I would try and find out, 
and I went to Mr. Simpson, who was at the Hall after what 
occurred in the village, and asked him. You may imagine 
how surprised I was when he told me your name was 
Millington, and that you had come to see Mr. Haldane upon 
business.” 

" He told you that, did he ? What made you go to 
Mr. Simpson for information, Rachel ? ” 

" He knows everything that is going on, and is always 
curious about strangers. 'Are you quite, quite positive, Mr. 
Simpson ? ’ I said. He said he was, and he gave me a dis- 
cription of you. Do 3^ou know, sir, when he said it was 
Mr. Millington, I thought at first it was George.” 

"Very natural, my dear.” 


36 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


But his description of you as a middle-aged gentleman 
didn’t fit George. Then I thought that there must be more 
than one Millington in England, and that you mightn’t be 
any relation of George’s. I told Miss Haldane what Simpson 
said, and she asked if you could be trusted. I answered if 
you were George’s father — it was only then that the 
thought came into my head that you might be — that I 
would trust you with my life, but that if you weren’t I 
hadn’t any opinion to offer.” As Rachel’s hand was lying 
on my sleeve I put my disengaged hand upon it and patted 
it approvingly ; the conviction was dawning upon me that 
George had made a good choice. “ ‘ Go and see, Rachel,' 
Miss Haldane said, ' and if he is George’s father’” — 

O,” said I, interrupting her, Does she know about 
you and George, then ? ” 

Yes, sir. I haven’t any secrets from my dear young 
lady, and I don’t think she has many from me. ‘ If he is 
George’s father,’ she said, ' ask him if he will come and 
speak to me.’ ” 

To do her a service ? ” I said. 

'‘Yes,’ said Rachel, " to do her a service.” 

As she did not volunteer any information as to the 
nature of the service for which I was required, I forebore to 
press her, and inwardly commended her for her prudence. 
Neither did she make any inquires of me as to the business 
which had brought me to Chudleigh Park, and this was in 
my eyes another recommendation. Having got thus far 
we fell into conversation about George, and you may be sure 
that was a subject I could be most eloquent upon. I said 
nothing that was not a pleasure for her to hear, and she 
fully repaid me by saying that George spoke of me exactly 
as I spoke of George. 

" What would give my lad great joy,” I said, " would be 
if you were nearer to each other. Sweethearting at a 
distance is not half as agreeable as when young people are 
together.” 

" But it can’t be helped,” said Rachel. 

" I suppose it can’t,” said I, with a kind of doubt in my 
voice. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


37 


“ George knows that I have made up my mind not to 
leave my young lady till she is settled. I couldn’t do it, 
Mr. Millington.” 

"‘Yes, he has told me so. Well, my dear, the sooner 
Miss Haldane is settled the better for all parties. Is there 
any early prospect of that, Rachel ? ” 

“ I can’t say,” she replied. “ There are some things I 
mustn’t speak about.” 

“ Quite right, my dear. Never betray a confidence. I 
shall make George happy by telling him how pleased I am 
with you.” 

We were now at the Hall, and Rachel asked me to wait 
while she went and told her young mistress that I was 
come. 

“ You mustn’t mind if you are detained a little while,” 
she said, and left me to myself for a quarter of a hour or 
so, at the end of which time she made her appearance 
again, and made me follow her to Miss Haldane’s room. 

Miss Haldane was at dinner, Rachel whispered to me 
as we went upstairs, and she was presently to dress for the 
ball. All around me were evidences of state and grandeur, 
which none but a gentleman of great fortune could main- 
tain. The servants were in handsome livery, and the 
passages and staircases were bright with lights and 
flowers. No one took any notice of me, every person I 
saw being intent on business or pleasure. I was glad when 
we did not meet Mr. Haldane. In acceding to Miss Hal- 
dane’s request I had not given him a thought, and it was 
only when I was in his house that it occurred to me that 
a meeting with him might be awkward. I was doing .no 
wrong, however, and I quickly made up my mind, in case 
of a meeting, to answer frankly any questions he might 
put to me. There was no need of any explanation, as I 
did not see him. 

Rachel took me into a room adjoining one in which, I 
judged, Miss Haldane was to dress. She went into this 
adjoining room, and presently Miss Haldane came from it, 
and greeted me gracefully ; but I saw there was trouble in 
her face. 


38 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“ Rachel/’ said Miss Haldane, I wish to speak to Mr. 
Millington alone. Remain in the other room in case I 
want you.” When Rachel was gone she continued : “ It is 
fortunate you are here, Mr. Millington, as I should not 
know whom else to trust. Everyone is so busy, and there 
are some who are apt to judge harshly. They are sorry 
for it afterwards, but it is not always easy to undo an 
unkindness.” She paused, as if she found it difficult to 
speak of what was weighing on her mind. With abrupt 
decision, which denoted a certain strength of character, 
she said, ‘‘ It is of the poor girl you saw in the village ?” 

“ Honoria,” I said. 

‘‘ Yes, Honoria,” she said, and paused again. 

You may speak freely to me. Miss Haldane,” I said. 

I will do whatever you desire, and you may trust me to 
act kindly.” 

Thank you, Mr. Millington,” she said ; '' your assur- 
ance is a great relief to me. You are acquainted with the 
poor girl’s name. Has anyone been speaking to you about 
her?” 

‘‘ Some particulars of her residence in the village have 
reached me, and I am sorry for her.” 

She gave me a grateful look. ‘‘ You must not believe 
all you hear, Mr. Millington. Honoria is a good girl, and 
was not satisfied with her position. I have suspected that 
along time, and when she went away, having no family 
here that had any claims upon her, it was with the inten- 
tion to better herself. There was nothing wrong in that.” 

Nothing, Miss Haldane.” 

What Mrs. Porter accused her of is not true. It was 
unfortunate that she was robbed just at the time Honoria 
left the village, but Honoria is not to be blamed for it. I 
see now that she could not have been happy with Mrs. 
Porter, and that must have been one reasou for her sudden 
departure. I was very fond of her, and she had an affec- 
tion for me. Mr. Millington, do you think you can find 
her for me ? ” 

“ But she was with you two or three hours ago.” 

I know. I brought her to the Hall, and asked the 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


39 


servants to be good to her, and to let me see her to-morrow 
^ when this busy time is over. I was greatly distressed 
when Rachel told me she had left the house.” 

“ Do you know why she left ? ” I asked. 

No ; nor does Rachel. But she has gone, and I am 
afraid to think what will become of her. She is quite 
penniless, Mr. Millington ; she did not tell me so, but I am 
sure of it. I did not like to offer her money, for fear of 
hurting her feelings ; I thought I would wait till to-mor- 
row, and then, after hearing her story, I would decide how 
I could best assist her. Poor Honoria ! She hasn't a 
friend, Mr. Millington.” 

'' She has one very sincere friend. Miss Haldane." 

'' Indeed I would like to be ; but how can I when I don’t 
know where she is ? ” 

'' May I make a remark. Miss Haldane ? ” 

''I wish you would. I am sure it would be in the 
right direction. 

Before I can advise you, before I know how to pro- 
ceed, I should like to ascertain the cause of her leaving the 
Hall. If you can spare Rachel, and will receive me again 
in a few minutes, I could see my way more clearly.” 

“Certainly, Mr. Millington.” She called Rachel. “Rachel, 
go with Mr. Millington, and tell him what he wants to know. 
Bring him back to me when he is ready to come.” 

“ Yes, Miss,” said Rachel, and she and I left the room, 
and went togther to the lower part of the house. Rachel 
could tell me very little, but she could act under my direc- 
tions. I had something more than a suspicion of the rea- 
son of Honoria’s hasty departure. Being given into the 
care of the servants she had met with just such treatment 
as might have been expected by any person who was a 
better judge of human nature than Miss Haldane. Black 
looks had been directed towards her, harsh words had been 
flung at her, she had been condemned without a trial. It 
is the way of people in humble circumstances, who are 
generally far more cruel in their judgment of their equals 
than those in a higher position. Stung to the soul the 
unhappy girl had fled, to hide herself ^ — Where ? 


40 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I did not make the inquiries myself, but, through 
Rachel, I learned all that I wanted to know. With a due 
regard to the fact that Rachel was a young and virtuous 
girl, I was extremely careful in the instructions I gave her, 
and what she gathered from her fellow-servants was of 
far less weight in her eyes than in mine. Reading between 
the lines, and reasoning out the bare particulars with 
which she supplied me, the suspicion I had formed became 
a certainty ; and thus armed I returned to Miss Haldane, 
accompanied by Rachel, who, as before, retired to the inner 
room, and left her mistress and me to converse in private. 

Honoria will not come back to the Hall, Miss Hal- 
dane.’' 

Oh, Mr. Millington ! ” 

Y ou spoke truly when you said that some people are 
apt to judge harshly. lam afraid that is the case with 
the servants here.” 

‘‘ But they have not heard what Honoria has to say ! '' 

If they did,” I said, with gentle firmness, “ it is not 
unlikely she would be disbelieved.” I did not add that it 
would harden them even more against her ; it was the last 
of my wishes to give pain to the tender-hearted lady. 

With the same abrupt decision I had already noticed 
in her manner Miss Haldane said, 

“ Mr. Millington, Honoria must be found.” 

'' I will endeavor to find her.” 

'' Poor Honoria — poor Honoria ! Think of the terrible 
night before her ! Every house shut against her ! Every- 
one she meets turning from her ! Oh, Mr. Millington, if I 
had been a poor girl it might have happened to me ! ” 

“ Never,” I thought, but I held my tongue. < 

She took a purse from her pocket, and emptied it into 
my hands. There were six sovereigns and a few pieces of 
silver. | 

‘‘ I shall never be able to repay you,” she said, if you J 
will find Honoria, and give her this, with my love and pity. 
You are a father, and will be tender to her. See that she j 
has shelter to-night, and counsel her what to do to-morrow. I 
If she will not come to me, ask her if I may come to her; j 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


41 


and if she will not, beg her to write to me, and say that I 
will always, always be her friend/’ 

She entrusted me with many more sweet messages of 
a similar nature, and I promised to do my best to carry out 
her wishes. 

“ There is something else, Mr. Millington. Go to Mrs. 
Porter in the morning, and ascertain what value she places 
upon the brooch and earrings which the tramp stole from 
her with the other things. Pay her whatever she asks, 
and I will give you the money. I will not have Honoria s 
name coupled with any accusation of that kind, though I 
know the charge is false.” 

'' I will do everything,” I said, in the way you wish it 
done.” 

'' I am truly beholden to you,” she said, shaking hands 
with me. 

And so I bade her good night, and went to find Honoria. 


CHAPTER VI. 

I PROCEEDED in the direction of the village, not because I 
expected to find Honoria there, but it was likely I should 
be able to extract information from some one who saw her 
after she left the Hall. It was necessary that I should be 
careful in my inquiries, for the sake of the poor girl, and 
to ensure success in the task upon which I was engaged ; 
neither did I wish it to reach the ears of Mr. Haldane that 
I was meddling in village affairs. But I learned noth- 
ing. Not one of the persons to whom I spoke had seen 
anything of Honoria, and I found myself at a standstill. 
In a discontented mood I retraced my steps to the park, 
and wandered through the dark spaces, carefully scrutiniz- 
ing any likely spot in which Honoria might have sought 
refuge for the night. I met with no success, however, and 
was debating where to proceed when I thought of Chud- 
leigh Woods. For a stranger like myself to go there and 
search for a girl whose long residence in Chudleigh must 


42 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


have made its intricacies familiar to her was a forlorn 
hope, but it was the only hope that remained, and I turned 
my face to the rustic bridge which spanned the lake of 
lilies. Having crossed this bridge I paused to decide which 
direction to take, to the right or to the left. Either way I 
was confronted with a tangle of trees which seemed to 
mock my efforts. Idly standing for a few moments on the 
edge of the lake I pushed the stout walking stick I always 
carried with me into the water, to sound its depths. I 
could not touch the bottom, and I shuddered as I reflected 
that it was deep enough to end the woes of any rash and 
despairing mortal. One plunge upon such a night as this, 
and the wretched life was over. Did the quiet surface 
upon which I gazed hide a tragedy so awful ? Common 
enough in human records was such an ending of folly and 
sinful temptation. 

Before I had determined on my course my attention 
was attracted by a red glow in mid air at the other end of 
the bridge. A man was there, walking towards me, and 
the glow came from a cigar he was smoking. As he 
approached me I observed that he was in evening dress, 
but the night was too dark for me to see his face clearly. 
By his springy steps I judged him to be young, and there 
was a noticeable freedom, not to say insolence in his move- 
ments which impressed me strongly. His appearance in 
evening dress, in a spot so secluded, aroused my curiosity. 
He was a gentleman — I am setting down the conclusions I 
formed as he traversed the bridge — and came from the 
Hall. Certainly for no idle purpose ; there were pleasanter 
places in the park in which he could have smoked without 
interruption. Why, then, had he chosen these lonely woods 
in which to puff his cigar ? I know the flavor of a good 
cigar, and his was an exceptionally fine one, which only a 
gentleman could afford to smoke. It was perhaps because 
I was in search of a clue that I associated this gentleman 
with Honoria. I was ready to catch at any straw that 
presented itself, and I caught at this, and determined to 
watch his proceedings. Whether I was right or wrong it 
could do no harm. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


43 


I kept myself well in shadow, and when, having crossed 
the bridge he turned, without hesitation, to the left I fol- 
lowed him so quietly that I was safe from detection. It is 
generally easy to tell whether a man is walking aimlessly 
or with a distant goal in view ; the manner of the gentle- 
man I was following indicated tlie latter, and the result 
proved it to be so. We had gone about five hundred yards, 
when he paused before a rough bench which had been set 
up in the forest. Upon this bench sat a woman, who 
raised her head at his approach. Otherwise she did not 
move or speak till he addressed her. The woman was 
Honoria. 

They gazed at each other in silence a while ; a fright- 
ened, piteous expression on her face — a scornful, pitiless 
expression on his. 

''Well,'' he said, "you are here." 

" Yes." 

" Been waiting long ?" 

" Yes." 

"Ah! Now perhaps you will tell me what the devil 
brought you back to the village ? " 

" You know !" 

" I don't know. Come, out with it ! You will do your- 
self no good by prevaricating." 

" I wanted to see you." 

" In the name of all that's wonderful, what for ? " 

"You know." 

" I don't know." 

" You do." In maintaining her point she exhibited no de- 
fiance. It was a simple and helpless iteration of the truth. 

" All right ; I do know. Good night." 

" Austin !" 

" Well ?" 

But Honoria, whether from weakness of character or 
sheer despair, did not answer him. She was thoroughly 
cowed and beaten down, and all she could do was to silently 
clasp her hands and with mournful eyes appeal to him for 
mercy. He had turned to leave her, but he thought better 
of it, and now once more he confronted her. 


44 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


How did you ascertain I was here?’' 

I guessed you would be.. Last year, before I 6he 

paused. 

“ Go on. Before you ’’ 

Went away, there was a talk of a celebration of this 
birthday. I came upon a chance.” 

‘‘ A devilish unlucky chance. You had better have 
remained where you were.” 

'' I could not.” 

"Why?” 

" I was turned out of my lodgings. I had no money to 
pay the rent.” 

" A likely story. How did you get here ?” 

" I walked.” 

“ All the way ? ” 

" All the way.” 

" You must have enjoyed yourself.” 

He was so utterly heartless that I could have struck 
him; but to carry out Miss Haldane’s merciful intention it 
was imperative I should keep myself from the observation 
of this gentleman. 

" Give me your attention/ he said presently. " You 
ought to know me pretty well by this time, and if you 
think you can turn me from any purpose I have formed 
you will find out your mistake. I told you in London that 
I was tired of you, and intended to have nothing more to 
do with you. You don’t dispute that, I suppose.” 

" I don’t dispute it. You told me ; but what am I to 
do ? ” 

" I don’t care what you do. The world is before you.” 

"Austin,” she said, with some poor show of spirit, 
" when you took me from the village ” 

" Be careful in what you say. It was your own choice.” 

" God help me, it was ! But I believed in your 
promises.” 

" More fool you ! I should have been as great a fool as 
yourself if I had believed in your protestations. We were 
both playing our own game. You wanted to go to London. 
I took you there, and a pretty penny you cost me. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


45 


I You promised to marry me. 

I “ 0, yes, the usual cry ! 

* ^'You promised solemnly, and I believed you. How 
I should I have guessed you were deceiving me ? 

'' Don't ask me conundrums. I made no promise to you 
' that I have not fulfilled. As for marrying, you must be 
r mad. You have no claim upon me, and I will take precious 
^ good care that you do not annoy me. There’s the law, my 
lady ; if you don’t mind you will get into its clutches.’* 

^ '' What have I done to deserve it ? ” 

i “What have you done? Why the whole village is 
^ ringing with it. If I had suspected you were a thief — ” 

“ Austin,” she cried, interrupting him, “ you don’t, you 
can’t believe it ! ” 

f “ I do believe it, and so does every one. Let us put this 
i thing straight, my girl ; I should like you to understand it 
clearly, so that you may not get yourself into trouble. You 
I ran away from the village— don’t interrupt me again, 
please. You are not the only young woman who has run 
away from a village, and you won’t be the last. On the 
night you disappeared the woman you were living with was 
I robbed of some articles of jewellery. You are liable at any 
moment to be taken up on that charge and clapped into 
prison. I don’t want to move in the matter unless you 
force me to it.” 

“ All you want,” said Honoria, mournfully, “ is to get rid 
of me.” 

“ Exactly. The little comedy in which you and I played 
the principal parts is finished. It wasn’t by an 3 ^ means an 
original comedy ; the world knows it by heart. The curtain 
fell and I bade you good-bye, and left you twenty pounds 
to start afresh with. If you didn’t make good use of the 
money, that is your business, not mine, and I don’t intend 
to make it mine. I’m not a sponge.” 

“ I made the money last as well as I could ; and you 
know, Austin, I wrote to you more than once.” 

“Did you?” But although this exclamation implied 
denial I saw that he had received the letters. 

“ I did, and asked you what I, was to do, but you never 


46 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I 


replied. Austin, don’t drive me to despair. You don’t kno(® 
what is before me — something that makes me tremble to 
think of. It would be better for me to be dead than to 
live through what is coming unless you. keep the proHM 
you made me.” 

Is that all you have to say ?” he asked, flicking the ash 
off his cigar. 

What more can I say, Austin ?” 

I can’t suggest. You have already said too much.” 

“ There is one thing I could do if you abandon me.” 

“ What is it ? 

‘‘ Expose you.” 

He laughed. “ Who would believe you ? Who would 
take the word of a thief and a wanton against that of a 
gentleman ? There have been plenty of these trumped-up 
charges ; look them up, and see who has come off best. 
You would but expose your own shame, my lady. Now, 
just look here. Dare to threaten me again, and I’ll set the 
police on you. Be reasonable, and I’ll help you on a bit, as 
I would help a stranger. Here’s a sovereign ; you can get 
back to London with it : and then, never let me hear of you 
again. You can’t say now that I’m hard on you.” 

He held out the sovereign to her, but she did not take 
it. 

Is that all you will do ? ” she asked. 

'' Oh !” he said, ‘‘ do you want more ? ” 

It is not money I mean.” 

'' I can’t think of anything else. Will you be sensible, 
and take a couple of sovereigns ? ” 

" No.” 

“ Then I have nothing more to say. Good night.” 

He turned on his heel, and walked leisurely away, giv- 
ing her time to call him back. But she spoke no word, and 
presently he was out of sight and hearing. 

My whole attention was now centered upon Honoria. 
I felt that if I now suddenly presented myself I should 
frustrate the object I had in view. Honoria would know 
that I had been eavesdropping, and that the true story of 
her shame was no longer a secret. The chances were, in 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


47 


her state o£ mind, that she would repulse me and fly from 
me ; and even if I succeeded in detaining her she would 
’ look upon me with suspicion, and regard me as an enemy 
j instead as a friend. My purpose was to win her confidence, 
! and this would scarcely be possible if I showed that I was 
fully acquainted with her sad position. Therefore, I deter- 
i mined to wait patiently until she removed from the spot, 
( and afforded me a more favorable opportunity of introduc- 
^ ing myself. 

For quite a quarter of an hour she did not move from 
her seat. I was prepared for an exhibition of grief and 
despair, but not a sound escaped her. She sat perfectly 
still, with her hands clasped before her, her manner that of 
one whose mind was a blank. Some light sound from bird 
or animal aroused her. With a frightened look, her nerves 
being in the condition to construe threateningly any indi- 
cation of life that reached her senses, she rose to her feet, 
and, as though she had been ordered from the spot by a 
voice of authority, moved away. In which direction ? 
That of the rustic bridge which spanned the lake. That 
led to the park ? From the park there was a road to the 
railway station, from which a train for London would 
leave at twelve o’clock. I looked at my watch ; it was a 
quarter to eleven. There was plenty of time for Honoria 
to get to the station in time to catch this last train. Per- 
haps that was her intention, her errand to Chudleigh hav- 
ing failed. Then I thought that Miss Haldane had told 
me Honoria was penniless, but, after all, that might not be 
the case Doubtless she had money enough to take her to 
London, and if she had not, I could supply here with more 
than was needful. I pitied the girl sincerely, and heartily 
despised her betrayer, but I had not made up my mind as 
to her character. I followed her noiselessly to the lake, 
determined to wait till she was near the station before I 
accosted her. 

At the lake she paused in thought for so long a time 
that I began to get anxious. Once she turned her head 
hurriedly in my direction, and it was only by a rapid and 
silent movement that I escaped being seen by her. Then 


48 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


she walked slowly on to the bridge, and when she reached 
the centre, paused again and looked over into the lake. It 
was at this point that the water was deepest. There was 
now a light in the sky, and I saw distinctly every move- 
ment she made. Sitting down upon the floor of the wooden 
bridge she took from her pocket an envelope, and from that 
a sheet of notepaper, upon which she wrote some words. 
Replacing the sheet of paper in the envelope she returned 
it to her pocket, and then, with a sudden and quick motion 
she stood upright. The decision and rapidity of this move- 
ment inspired me with the fear that she was about to com- 
mit suicide. This indeed was her intention. Flinging up 
her arms she stood for a moment in suspense, with the 
light shining upon her, and before she could carry her 
desperate purpose into execution she was struggling in my 
arms. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Let me go, let me go 1 ” she cried. 

In a moment,” I said soothingly ; let us get ofl* this 
bridge flrst ; it is unsafe.” 

Recognizing that she was powerless she allowed me to 
lead her across. After her flrst protest she said nothing 
more while I kept my hold on her. Beset by fears, sur- 
rounded by enemies, she must have put the worst construc- 
tion upon my unexpected appearance. I did all I could by 
kind and assuring words to set her mind at ease with respect 
to me, and when we were at a safe distance from the lake 
I said. 

That rickety old bridge needs repairing. No wonder 
you felt dizzy as you were crossing it. I almost tumbled 
into the water myself. You are all right now, are you 
not?” 

Instead of answering my question she asked me another. 
‘‘Where are you going to take me ? ” 

“ Nowhere,” I replied with a smile, “ except you wish 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


49 


me to show you the way to any place Though, for the 
matter of that, I don’t promise to be of much use, as I am 
a stranger in the village.” 

“ Don’t you know me ? Have you never seen me 
before ? ” 

I answered without the least hesitation or compunction, 
'' No, I don’t know you, I have never seen you before.” 
A sigh of relief escaped her. But now I look at you,” 
I continued, “ I shouldn’t wonder if you are the girl I’m 
searching for.” Again the expression on her face was one of 
fear, as that of a person who was being hunted down. Now, 
my dear — don’t mind my calling you my dear; it’s only in a 
fatherly way, and I want to be your friend if you’ll let me 
— don’t get wrong thoughts into your head. All I know 
about you supposing you to be the person I’m looking for, 
is what Miss Haldane has told me, and it isn’t likely, is it, 
that she should say anything about you or anyone that 
wasn’t kind and good ? ” 

“ Miss Haldane ? ” 

Yes, my dear. Miss Haldane, as sweet a young lady as 
ever drew breath. I happened to come down to-night 
upon a little matter of business, and Miss Haldane happen- 
ing to see me, asked me to do her a service. It’s the first 
time I’ve ever been in Chudleigh, and everybody and every- 
thing, except Miss Haldane, is new to me, and that perhaps 
is why she pressed me into her service. Of course I don’t 
know it was her reason; I’m only making a guess at it. 
There’s a grand ball at the Manor House to-night, you 
know, and I’m not one of the guests, not being a gentleman 
‘ Mr. Millington’ — that’s my name, my dear — Air. Milling- 
ton,’ Miss Haldane says to me, ' there’s a young friend of 
j mine to whom I am afraid the servants in Hall have 
I behaved unkindly. She is very sensitive, and has gone 
j away, when I wanted her to remain. I wish you would 
! go and find her, and do what you can to help her, and give 
i her my love.’ ” 

^^She said that ? ” 

She said that, my dear. ^ And give her my love, and 
say that I am her friend, and shall always be her friend, 


50 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


She hasn’t many, poor girl.’ Then, my dear, she gave me a 
description of you. And told me your name was Honoria. 
Is it?” 

‘‘ You are not deceiving me ? ” 

Look me in the face, my dear, and say whether it’s 
likely I would deceive a girl who might be my daughter, 
being a father myself, and be base and mean enough to 
invent a story to lead her astray ? ” 

No,” said Honoria, casting a timid glance at me, '' you 
don’t look like one of that sort.” 

I’m not one of that sort. If I were it isn’t likely a 
sweet lady like Miss Haldane would put such trust in me. 
Then she says to me, ‘ Perhaps Honoria is in want of 
money,’ and she empties her purse into my hand. ‘ Give 
her this, and ask her, if she will not come to me, to let me 
come to her, and beg her, with my love, to write to me.’ ” 
I took Honoria’s hand in mine, and put into it the gold and 
silver which Miss Haldane had entrusted me with. She 
looked at the money with eyes in which tears were rising. 
I hailed this softened mood with satisfaction ; it was the 
best of signs. ‘ And mind,’ says Miss Haldane, ‘ you’re 
not to leave Honoria till you see her comfortably provided 
for.’ Then, having to dress for the ball, she sent me away 
to find you, and I don’t for a moment doubt, if her duties 
had not kept her at the Hall, that she would have come 
out with me to look for you. Well, my dear, it was rather 
a wild goose chase I was engaged in, and I hardly knew 

which way to look. I wouldn’t go to the village 

“ Why?” 

Because Miss Haldane gave me to understand that it 
would be of no use to look there for you. ‘ You will most 
likely,’ she said, ‘ find Honoria somewhere in the park or 
the woods,’ and it was there I searched for you. You 
weren’t in the park, so far as I could see, and I went to 
the woods, and had given you up, for I saw no trace of 
you, and was coming back over the bridge when I caught 
sight of a figure crossing that rickety structure. I sup- 
pose you were alarmed, for you struggled to get away from 
me, and now, my dear, you know all it is in my power to 
tell you. I hope you believe me ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


51 


“Yes,” said Honoria, “I believe you.” 

And now she burst into a passion of tears. Out of 
tenderness for her, and to strengthen her confidence in me, 
1 turned my head, and waited till her passion was spent. 
Then I said — 

“ The question is now. What are we to do ? I have 
only partly executed Miss Haldane s commission. She 
won’t be satisfied unless I finish it. I’ve got to look after 
you, you know.” 

“ I must ask you something first,” said Honoria. 

“ I’l] answer anything you put to me.” 

“ You searched the woods for me, and didn’t find me.” 

“No, I did not find you, and I was greatly disap- 
pointed.” 

“ Did you see anyone tnere ? ” 

“Not a soul. The place was as quiet and lonely as a 
churchyard. I don’t mind confessing I was glad to get out 
of it.” 

She wiped her eyes, and looked at me attentively. 

“ Well, my dear,” I said with a smile, “ do you think 
you can trust me ? ” 

“ I must trust you,” she replied, “ there is no one else.” 

“ You must have shelter for the night. Shall we go to 
the village ? ” 

“No,” she said, shuddering ; “ not there, not there !” 

“ Perhaps you would like to get back to London ?” 

“ Can 1 ? It is so late !” 

“ I have a time-table in my pocket.” I consulted it. 
As I have said, there was a last night train for London, and 
there was, moreover, an early morning train from the city, 
which would enable me to get back to Chudleigh Park in 
time for my appointment with Mr. Haldane. I told 
Honoria of the late train. 

“ I will take it,” she said. 

“ And I will go with you,*’ I said. 

“ There is no occasion. I can go alone ” 

“ My dear,” I said, “ you will allow me, as a father, to 
know what is best. I would not let a daughter of my own 
travel alone so late as this, and I shall not let you. Besides, 


52 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE, 


I have promised Miss Haldane to see you in safe shelter 
to-night, and I shall insist upon carrying out her wishes.” 

She yielded without remonstrance, and we stepped on 
towards the station. It suited her humor and mine that 
our way lay through a bye road, where we were not likely 
to meet with any of the villagers, but we had first to tra- 
verse a path from which I saw the lights in the Manor 
House shining. We had a few minutes to spare, and I 
asked Honoria whether she would min^ waiting for me 
alone while I ran to the Hall, my reason — with which I 
made her acquainted — being to endeavor to communicate 
to Miss Haldane the news of Honoria’s safety. 

It will relieve Miss Haldane s mind,” I said. '' She is 
very anxious about you, and the knowledge that I am tak- 
ing care of you will contribute to her enjoyment to-night.” 

Yes, go,” said Honoria. 

You will not run away,” I said. 

I promise,” she answered. 

Shall I give any message to Miss Haldane from you ?” 

“ Say that I am humbly grateful,” replied Honoria, and 
added, after a struggle with herself, “ and that I am un- 
worthy of her kindness.” 

“ That, indeed, I shall not say,” I remarked, and, leav- 
ing Honoria in a secluded spot, I hastened to the Hall. 

Good fortune befriended me ; I saw Rachel, and she 
stepped aside with me. 

“ Tell Miss Haldane,” I said, that I have found Hon- 
oria, and am going to London with her.” 

‘‘It will make her happy to hear it,” said Rachel; 
“ she has been worrying about her. But, oh, Mr. Millington, 
what a trouble for you !” 

“ Not at all, my dear,” I said. “ I would do much more 
than this to serve so sw^eet a lady.” 

“ Mr. Millington,” said Rachel, “ I am so glad I know 
you, and that you are what you are. George was right.” 

“ He is not wrong about many things, my dear,” I said. 

“ Not about me ? ” she asked, with a pretty archness. 

“ Not at all about you, my dear,” I said, and I kissed 
the good girl, there being no one to see us. “ I shall be 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


53 


back in Chudleigli to-morrow. Any word for George ’ 

“ My love, Mr. Millington.” 

I will give it him, Rachel. 

My dear love,” she said. 

Yes, Rachel. Good night, my dear.” 

Good night, Mr. Millington.” 

I sped back to Honoria, with some slight misgivings 
as to whether I should find her ; but she was faithful to 
her promise, and we arrived at the station before the train 
was there. Honoria kept herself out of view of the station 
master, and I succeeded in putting her in a third-class 
carriage without her being observed by any one who knew 
her. There were very few travellers by the train, and 
Honoria and I had a compartment to ourselves. It was 
during an endeavor to open a conversation with the poor 
girl that I noticed signs of exhaustion in her. 

You are faint,” I said. 

I am hungry.” 

'' How careless of me not to have thought of it,” I said, 
but I had no time to say more, for Honoria's eyes closed, 
and she sank back in a swoon. 

I could do nothing to relieve her, not being provided 
with food or drink. As she lay beforeime I could not help 
seeing how beautiful she was. Her features were fault- 
less, and her dark hair and eyebrows, in contrast with her 
pallid face, added to her loveliness. A dangerous gift for a 
poor girl without parents or protector. My thoughts 
wandered to the man she called by the name of Austin, 
w^ho was clearly her betrayer. I did not need to be told 
the story of the betrayal and the desertion ; it was not, as 
he had said, a comedy, but he was right when he said that 
the world knew it by heart. Then I thought of Miss Hal- 
dane. She had no suspicion of Honoria's shame ; when she 
became acquainted with it, as one day she must, how would 
she act ? What a shock it would be to her pure heart to 
learn that Honoria had fallen so low ! And for Honoria 
herself, what would be the end ? Too well did I divine 
the meaning of the words she had spoken to her betrayer : 
^ You don’t know what is before me — something that 


54 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


makes me tremble to think of. It would be better for me 
to be dead than to live through what is coming unless you 
keep the promise you made me.” Was this man, Austin, a 
friend of the Haldanes ? The assignation in Chudleigh 
Woods with Honoria strengthened the presumption that 
he was no stranger to the locality, and therefore no stranger 
at the Manor House. Was he trusted by Miss Haldane ? 
Had he succeeded in concealing his true character from 
her ? In these reflections I saw all the materials for a 
pregnant drama of human life, although only one of its 
incidents had been, by accident, revealed to me. 

My business, however, was not with the future, but the 
present. The poor insensible girl needed practical assist- 
ance, and while the train was speeding on I could not 
render it to her. Luckily we stopped at a station ; unluckily 
there was no refreshment bar there. But I made a friend 
of the guard. For a consideration he supplied me with a 
slice of bread and butter, part of his night’s meal, and 
water in a lemonade bottle. I moistened Honoria’s lips 
with the water, and bathed her forehead with it. She 
opened her eyes. 

Drink,” I said, “ and eat this slice of bread. When we 
get to London you shall have something better.” 

She thanked me gratefully, and I managed to sustain 
her spirits till we arrived at our destination. I hailed a 
cab and informing the driver of our needs, he took us to a 
coffee house, where a cup of hot coffee and some bread and 
meat put color into Honoria s cheeks. I, also, being rather 
used up, was thankful for the refreshment. 

‘‘ Where to ? ” asked the driver. 

Strangely, I had not thought of a place, and I asked 
Honoria whether there were any lodgings to which I could 
take her. No, she answered, she did not know of any. 
She had had rooms in a house, but had been turned out of j 
them, and she would not return. It was now between 
three and four o’clock in the morning, and as I was stand- 
ing in perplexity as to what to do, Honoria said: 

Leave me here ; I can manage for myself.” 

“No,” I said, “ that is impossible. To leave you alone 
in London streets at such an hour- 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


55 


There was nothing for it but to take her to my house, 
and I gave the driver the address. I told Honoria what I 
had determined upon. 

‘‘ There is only my son and a maid at home,’’ I said, 
'' but 3^ou can rest on the sofa till morning, when you will 
be able to get a place that will suit you.” 

She looked at me, in wonder 1 thought, and we drove to 
Shepherd’s Bush, where I dismissed the cab, and rang and 
knocked at my street door. I could not help smiling to 
myself as I thought of George’s amazement when he saw 
me at such a time of night in the company of Honoria. 

'' Who’s there ? ” George called out, presently, from the 
passage. 

‘‘Open the door, old man,” I cried. 

“ Why, dad ! ” exclaimed George, and the door was 
hastily thrown open. As I expected, George, who was in 
his trousers, without coat or waistcoat, fell back at sight of 
Honoria. 

“Light the gas in the sitting-room, George,” I said. 
“Hurry up, old man.” 

He obeyed me in silence, and I conducted Honoria to 
the room, where she stood with her hand resting on the 
table, and with rather a thoughtful observance of George. 

“ This is a friend of Miss Haldane’s,” I said to him, “ at 
whose request I have brought to London. It would not 
have been proper for her to travel alone in the middle of 
the night.” 

“ Not at all, dad.” 

“ All the houses and hotels are closed, so I brought her 
home here, where she will stay till morning.” 

“ Quite right, dad.” But George was obviously puzzled. 

“ You can have my bedroom if you like,” I said, turning 
to Honoria. “ You must be dreadfully tired.” 

“ I am ashamed to put you to so much trouble,” she 
answered. “ I will rest on the sofa if you will allow me.” 

“Very well. Is there anything more I can do for 
you ?” 

“ Nothing, thank you. There is no man in the world 
who would have done so much.” 


56 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

Her lips trembled, and I made a motion to George to 
leave the room. 

Will you shake hands with me ? asked Honoria. 

‘‘ Indeed I will.’’ 

But to my surprise, when I held out my hand, she would 
not take it, and the thought crossed my mind that she had 
asked me to try me, and to be sure whether I was acquainted 
with her shame — in which case, she probably argued, I 
should have refused. 

“ If you can trust me,” she said, with a grateful look, 
will you leave me alone here ? ” 

Of course I can trust you,” I said heartily. Try and 
get an hour s sleep. I may be able to see you in the morn- 
ing before I go.” 

With that I left her, and went straight to George. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

I PLACED him in possession of the facts, but although he 
was much interested in what I had to say of Honoria 
and Miss Haldane, he was naturally much more interested 
in what I had to say of Rachel Diprose. I soon satisfied 
him on that head, and he was immensely pleased at my 
approval of his pretty sweetheart. 

“ I have killed two birds with one stone,” I said. “ I have 
seen Rachel and like her, and I have rendered a service to 
Miss Haldane.” 

“ Yes,” said George, “but the bird you went down to 
Chudleiffh to kill is yet on the wing — your business with 
Mr. Haldane.” 

“ That is still to be let out of the trap,” I observed. 
“ There’s a train from Euston at 7.40, and I must catch it. 
I can have a couple of hours’ sleep if you’ll undertake to 
call me.” 

“ I’ll do that, dad.” 

“ Honoria must be dead tired, George, and if she falk 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


57 


asleep won’t wake up too readily. How does your work 
stand ? Can you be spared till dinner time ? 

Yes." 

‘‘ You had better remain in the house then, and be ready 
to assist her in any way she requires. You can’t go to her 
room till she calls, or you hear her moving about ; then ask 
her what you can do for her. Don’t let her go away with- 
out breakfast. When people are in trouble they appreciate 
any little mark of attention. If I don’t see her myself 
before I leave give her a note that I may as well write at 
once ; I may not have time when I wake up." 

I wrote the note there and then : 

''Dear Miss Honoria, — My son, George, will assist you 
in any way you wish. I am called away on business which 
cannot be postponed. You can trust my son thoroughly. 
If you prefer to consult me instead of my son I shall be 
back to-morrow or the next day, and shall be glad 
to advise you. A line here will always reach me, and 
I will attend to it without delay. Hoping you are feeling 
strong and well, I am faithfully yours, — R. Millington." 

Addressing the envelope simply "Miss Honoria,” I 
handed the note to George, and went to my room. The 
Qioment I threw myself on my bed I was asleep. 

Short as was my rest, it did me good. I jumped up 
when George called me, gave myself a wash in cold water, 
peeped into the garden, and was ready to start. 

"You have ten minutes yet, dad," said George, "and 
breakfast is ready for you.” 

There it was on the table, bread and butter cut, a pot 
of steaming tea, and a couple of rashers of bacon frizzling 
on a hot plate. And there, too, was a cab waiting at the 
door to take me to Euston. 

" Seen nothing of Honoria, I suppose,” I said, as I ate 
the welcome meal. 

" Nothing," said George. " There hasn’t been a sound 
in the room.” 

" Don’t forget my note, George.” 

" All right, dad." 

Before I left the house I lingered a moment at Hon- 


58 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


oria’s door. All was quiet within. I stepped vsoftly a.vay, 
and said to George as I got into the cab, 

'' I shall stop at Chudleigh Park to-night, at ‘‘the Brind- 
led Cow.'’ If you have anything particular to say you can 
wire me there, and anyhow you had better write this 
afternoon, so that I may receive your letter by first post 
to-morrow morning.” 

We shook hands and I was soon speeding to Chudleigh 
Park, where I arrived at eleven o'clock. The landlord of 
“the Brindled Cow ” looked rather curiously at me, I thought, 
and I immediately jumped at the cause. I had engaged a 
bed in his house last night and had not occupied it. I was 
considering whether I should tell him frankly I had been 
to London, or whether, for Honoria's sake, I should tell 
some other tale, when he said : 

“ Mr. Simpson has been quite anxious about you, sir.” 

“ Has he ? By the way I paid for my room last night, 
though I didn't sleep in it.” 

“ I had no fear of that, sir. I know a gentleman when 
I see one. Yes, quite anxious Mr. Simpson has been. He 
was here up to twelve o'clock last night, and has been 
twice this morning to ask after you.” 

“ It is very kind of him. You told him 1 did not sleep 
here ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; and he said it looked rather strange.” 

“ Well, so it does,” said I, my mind made up not to beat 
about the bush, “but the fact is, some business I had for- 
gotten called me suddenly to London.” 

“ What train did you take, sir ?” 

“The last.” 

“ You must have got to London before morning.” 

“ I did. It did not matter, my home being there.” 

“ Certainly, sir. Will you want your room to-night ?” 

“ Yes, and I shall dine here at about five.” 

“Alone, sir ?” 

“ I can't exactly say.” 

“ Very well, sir, there'll be enough for two.” 

Both he and I were thinking of Simpson with respect 
to my second dinner at “ the Brindled Cow” — he, doubtless 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


59 


with a desire to increase the bill, I with half an idea that 
Simpson might endeavor to fasten himself on to me again. 
I ran up to my room to wash and brush before going to 
my appointment with Mr. Haldane, and then proceeded in 
the direction of the Manor House. I was not half way there 
when who should I see walking towards me but Simpson, 
the irrepressible ! 

“Why, here you are again,” he said, speaking as if I was a 
clown in a pantomime. “ I am glad to see you, that I am.” 

This excess of cordiality did not evoke any sym- 
pathetic response. I nodded, and said curtly I was glad 
because he was glad. 

“ When did you get back ? ” he inquired. 

“ Back from where ? ” 

“ From London.” 

“ How do you know I have been there ? ’’ I asked 
blandly. Some men would have shown ill-temper, but a 
certain course of training I had gone through had armed 
me with weapons to cope with such an inquisitive person 
as Simpson. 

“ How do I know ? ” he said, jocosely. Was I born 
yesterday ? ” 

“ I should say not.’" 

“ Not by many a long day, Millington. Do you think 
anyone can take a ticket for London at our little local 
station without its being known ? ” 

“ You inquired there ? ” 

“ I was that anxious about you,” said Simpson, “ that I 
inquired everywhere.” 

“ I am much indebted to you.” 

“ Oh, it was only friendly. You would have done as 
much for me.” 

I thought to myself, “ Does Simpson speak these words 
with direct meaning ? Is he aware that I was formerly 
connected with a private inquiry office ? ” 

What I said aloud was, “ I am not so sure.” 

“ Oh, yes, you would, Millington. Every man and 
woman in the world has got the hall mark, a note of inter- 
rogation ; some large, some small,” 


60 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“ Yours is a large one, evidently.’' 

“ I don’t deny it. Not in persons I don t care for, mind; 
but when a man collars me as you collared me with your 
free ways — after my own heart, Millington — I’m always 
anxious about him.” 

“ If you’re collared by many people,” I remarked, “ you 
must have enough to do.” 

'' Ah, but I’m not. Men like you are scarce.” ('"Now, 
is he chaffing me or not ? ” I thought.) ‘‘ And you are a 
stranger in the village, remember. Anything might have 
happened to you. You might have been waylaid, and 
robbed, and murdered. I’ll show you a place in Chud- 
leigh Woods where a man was murdered some years ago, 
and to this day it remains a mystery. I thought of that 
when the landlord of the Brindled Cow ” told me last 
night ” 

At midnight,” I interposed. 

At midnight, that you had not come home. I said to my- 
self, " Simpson you are responsible ; you should have looked 
after him better ; you should have been as hospitable and 
friendly to him as he was to you. A good many travelling 
showmen have been to the village to-day, and some of them 
are not to be trusted. You will never forgive yourself, 
Simpson, if anything has happened to Millington.’ So what 
did I do ? I went to Chudleigh Woods, with a pistol in my 
pocket, to look for you.” 

‘'A likely place for a stranger to go to on a dark 
night ?” I said. ‘‘ Did you think of that ? ” 

I only thought of your safety, Millington. If I’d been 
satisfied of that I should have laid my head on my pillow 
with a contented mind. I didn’t find you in the woods. 
There was the bridge over the lake leading to ’em. You 
might have fallen in, and there would have been an end of 
you. I was positively uncomfortable, Millington. I didn’t 
get to bed till two o’clock. And you” — with his eyes on my 
face — '' look as if you’d had a bad night.” 

''It stands to reason that with such a journey I couldn’t 
have much sleep.” 

" Of course it does.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


61 


“ Your mind’s relieved now, I hope ? ’’ 

“ It is. I say, Millington” — and he poked his fingers in 
my ribs, and laughed — you’re a gay dog, you are ! ” 

“ Explain yourself, please,” I said, a little stiffly. 

Let you city men alone for showing us country clowns 
a trick or two ! We’re not in it with you. Skim milk for 
us, cream for you. You do pick up the tit bits, you do !” 

Out with the mystery,” I said. 

‘‘ That’s where it is,” said Simpson ; it is a mystery. 
' Who was she ? ’ I said to the railway porter. ‘ Didn’t see 
her face,' said he, ' and she didn’t want me to. Carriage all 
to themselves.’ Oh, you’re a sly one, Millington ! ” He 
gave me a series of winks, and laughed heartily. 

There was no misunderstanding his allusions. He had 
discovered that I had a female companion with me last 
night. Did he suspect that that companion was Honoria ? 

I made a dash at mystification. 

Suppose I brought her down with me yesterday to see 
the gay doings in the village ? ” 

This rather staggered him — for a moment only, how- 
ever. 

It won’t do, Millington, it won’t do. What, bring a 
lady all the way from bright London to see a tuppenny- 
ha’penny show like ours ! A likely thing ! And is it likely, 
either, that you would have left her to ramble about by 
herself all day, and have given me, a stranger, so much of 
your pleasant society ? Try another, my boy, try another.” 

I shall do nothing of the sort. There’s no putting you 
off* the scent, I can see that. But you must understand that 
there are some things a gentleman would rather not speak 
about.” 

A wink’s as good as a nod to a blind horse,” said 
j Simpson. Mum’s the word. Let’s have a word on another 
subject — that girl Honoria. What are you looking at your 
watch for ? ” 

'' What does a man generally look at his watch for ? ” I 
retorted. 

'' To see the time,” replied Simpson calmly, which made 
me rather ashamed of myself for showing temper. When 


62 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


you get hot and the other man keeps cool, you give him an 
advantage over you. “ Have you got an appointment ? ” 

'' I must be at the Hall by twelve o clock.'’ 

To see Mr. Haldane. I wish you joy. I caught a 
glimpse of him half an hour ago and he looked as black as 
thunder. It wants a quarter of an hour of twelve yet, and 
it won't take you five minutes to get to the Hall. This is 
a fine park, isn't it? Wish it was mine without any 
mortgages on it. Mortgages are the very devil. A man 
may be the master of a great estate, and it may be no better 
than a white elephant. I was speaking of that Honoria. 
What do you think ? Since Miss Haldane took her to the 
Hall last night, nothing's been heard of her." 

Indeed." 

Where can she have got to ? I've hunted high and 
low for her, but it was like looking for a needle in a bottle 
of hay. Singular, isn't it ? But I see you want to get rid 
of me. You've got Mr. Haldane on the brain. Hope to 
meet you by-and-by. Take care of yourself." 

“ I’ll try to." 

I asked myself as he walked away, whistling a lively 
air, whether the interest he exhibited in my movements 
proceeded from mere idle motives or from a deeper cause, 
and I could not answer the question. To account for a 
direct motive required a more comprehensive knowledge of 
Simpson than I at present possessed. 

Rachel Diprose was looking out for me, and ran to me 
smiling, before I reached the Hall door. 

‘‘ I am so glad you have got back safe," she said. What 
a tiring journey you must have had ! " 

“ It was rather tiring, Rachel," I replied, “ but I am not 
an old man yet. George comes of a good stock. You’ve 
had a late night of it, too, I expect." 

“Yes; the ball wasn't over till four o'clock, and Miss 
Haldane stopped to the last. Do I look tired ? " 

“ You look as fresh as a daisy, my dear. I gave your 
love to George, and he sent his to you. I astonished him 
by making my appearance so unexpectedly, and at such an 
hour in the morning, or rather night. I suppose Miss 
Haldane is not up yet." 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


63 


O, yes, she is, and that is one reason why I wanted to 
speak to you at once.’' 

‘‘ To hear about Honoria,” I said. Well, tell Miss 
Haldane that we got to London all right, and that I took 
her to my house. When I left this morning she was asleep, 
and when she wakes George will look after her. I wrote a 
line to Honoria, saying I would be back to-morrow, and 
that I would be ready to help her in any way she desired. 
The poor girl is very unhappy, and very grateful to Miss 
Haldane.” 

'' So she ought to be, but I don’t want George to have 
much to do with her.” 

This remark made me suspect that Rachel did not regard 
Honoria in the same light as her young mistress. The 
tittle-tattle of the servants and the village people had 
reached, her ears, and had produced its natural effect upon 
her mind. I did not think any the worse of Rachel for 
that. When boys and girls become men and women it is as 
well that they sh .' uld be in a position to understand certain 
things. Keeping young people in ignorance of natural laws 
is productive of no end of mischief. 

Don’t you be troubled about George, my dear,” I said, 
pinching her cheek. He is a good lad, and there is only 
one little woman in the world for him.” 

There is another thing,” said Rachel, '' about Mr. Simp- 
son. He has been poking about everywhere, and asking 
everybody if they knew anything about Honoria. Miss 
Haldane thinks it better for her — for Honoria, I mean — 
that nothing should be said about her going to London, and 
about you having anything to do with her. And, Mr. Mill- 
ington, I shouldn’t like Miss Haldane’s name to be mixed 
up in it.” 

'' I understand you. Tell Miss Haldane that Simpson 
has been at me already, and that he got nothing out of me. 
I’m a match for Simpson, my dear.” 

“ Don’t quarrel with him, Mr. Millington.” 

I don’t intend to. I rather enjoy playing a game of 
hoodwinking. Now I must go and see Mr. Haldane, who 
wants to speak to me about something or other, I shall 


64 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


stay at the Brindled Cow ’’ to-night, and shall return to 
London to-morrow morning by the 11.80 train.” 

The clock struck twelve as I sent my card up to Mr. 
Haldane. In matters of business I have always been a 
punctual man. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Mr. Haldane was in his library, a noble room, lined with 
book shelves. He looked at his watch as I entered, said 
“ Good-morning/’ and pointed to a chair at the table by 
which he was sitting. 

“ I sent for you, Mr. Millington,” he said, plunging into 
business at once, because I believe you are a man to be 
ti'usted. I require such a man to undertake a certain 
private matter, for which I am prepared to pay liberally. 
I gather from your reply to my letter and your presence 
here that you are willing to undertake the business.” 

In case I wished to retreat this was cutting the ground 
from under my feet, but I recognised that Mr. Haldane had 
put the natural construction upon my response to his 
request, and that I was to a certain extent compromised. 
Still I said — 

‘‘ May I know first, sir, what the business is ? ” 

‘'No,” he replied, and I saw that he was somewhat 
surprised, " it is a private and delicate matter, and cannot 
be disclosed to anyone who is not directly engaged in it. 
Did you come to see me out of simple idleness ? ” 

It would never have done to tell him that the principal 
motive of my business to Chudleigh Park was to see my 
son's sweetheart, so I answered — 

" Not at all, sir; only I have retired from active work, 
and am living upon my savings.” 

" I congratulate you ; but the fact of your not being 
actively associated with any inquiry office is an additional 
recommendation to me. It affords a more complete assur-. 
ance of absolute privacy.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


65 


I perceived from his manner that if I wished to be of 
service to Miss Haldane, and to be free to visit Rachel 
Diprose at Chudleigh Park when I desired (as I did wish in 
the interests of George) it was necessary for me to decide 
promptly. Mr. Haldane was clearly a gentleman not to be 
trifled with. 

“ I will undertake the business, sir/’ I said. 

‘'You understand that what passes between us is in 
absolute confldence, and that the most implicit secrecy must 
be observed.” 

“ I understand, sir ; but I must make one remark. 
Speaking in the dark, not knowing yet the nature of the 
commission, it may be necessary for me to employ some 
person to assist me.” 

“ It may be. In that case you will look out for a 
reliable person, who must not know that you are working 
for me. Plainly, Mr. Millington, my name does not come 
into the affair.” 

“ Then there will be no occasion to mention it, sir, and 
I can give you the promise of implicit secrecy.” 

“ Good. Now, Mr. Millington, I want, as far as possible, 
nothing written upon paper concerning this — this commis- 
sion ; no memoranda lying about which a prying person 
might get hold of. The utmost caution must be observed, 
and the communications which pass between us must be 
personal. If you have occasion to write me any letters do 
not refer to the matter — simply say that you are coming 
to see me on a certain day at a certain hour, and I shall 
understand that you are coming to report progress.” 

“ It shall be done as you direct, sir.” The arrangement 
suited me ; it would give me opportunities to see Rachel 
and Miss Haldane. 

“ Your memory is good, Mr. Millington ? ” 

“Excellent, sir.” 

“ I have written a statement respecting the commission ” 
— he seemed to like the word, and to be glad to use it instead 
of “ business ” — “ which I propose to read to you. When 
you get the particulars in your mind distinctly I shall burn 
the paper.’’ 


66 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Am I at liberty, sir, to ask you any questions as you 
read ? ’’ 

For the purpose of perfect clearness, yes ; but no ques- 
tions that do not directly affect the matter.'' 

I shall keep as strictly to the point as I can, sir." 

“ Draw a little closer to the table." 

While I did so he went to the door by which I had 
entered, locked it, and returned to his seat. He then took 
a paper from a drawer in the table, and proceeded to read 
in a low clear voice : 

‘'In the early part of the year 1867 a gentleman of the 
name of Julius Clifford took passage for New York in the 
steamer Circassia. Among the passengers on board was a 
young woman named Adeline Ducroz. She was in service 
as lady’s maid to a mistress whose name it is unnecessary 
to mention." 

I interrupted him. “I beg your pardon, sir. It may 
be very necessary. I speak as an expert." 

An expression of annoyance appeared in his face as he 
said, “ It may have escaped Mr. Clifford's memory." 

“ Then of course it cannot be stated now. But it will 
not be a difficult matter to obtain it from the agents of the 
vessel." 

“ If there is need for it," said Mr. Haldane “ I think 
you will find there is no need. What are you writing on 
that paper ? " 

“ Only the names of the persons you are introducing. 
They are strange to me, and I must get familiar with them. 
I shall require some latitude with respect to names and 
dates, and what I write will not pass out of my possession." 

“ If it must be," he said, and proceeded to read from the 
document before him : 

“ Adeline Ducroz was twenty- two or twenty-three years 
of age and was unhappy in her situation. She confided her 
troubles to Mr. Clifford, who pitied and sympathized with 
her, and when she asked him what she was to do, he ad- 
vised her to leave her mistress and get another situation 
upon her arrival in New York. She followed only a part 
of this advice. She quitted service, and instead of seeking 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


67 


fresh emplojanent, threw herself upon the protection of Mr. 
Clifford. Believing himself to be in some degree responsible 
for her friendless position, he stood by her, and they lived 
together in New York for five months/’ 

'' As man and wife I asked. 

'' Surely the statement is sufficiently explicit,” replied 
Mr. Haldane. 

'' Acting as a confidential agent,” I urged, it will be 
well to make things as clear as possible. They were not 
married in church ? ” 

No, they were not married in church.” 

‘ By registrar ? ” 

No.” 

'' But they lived together in New York as man andwife?” 

" Yes.” 

“ Publicly ? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose we may say publicly.” 

'' She passing by the name of Ducroz or Clifford ? ” 

'' By the name of Clifford.” 

'' Making purchases probably as Mrs. Clifford ? ” 

" Yes.” 

Mr. Clifford paying debts which she incurred ? ” 

'' Yes.” 

'' Paying these debts by cheque ? ” 

Many of them.” 

I assume it would be easy to establish all these details 
by evidence ? ” 

''No doubt.” 

" Thank you, sir. Kindly go on.” 

" First,” said Mr. Haldane, " I should like you to give 
me your reasons for these questions.” 

" I understand that I was not here to express opinions, 
but I will answer you if you insist upon it.” 

"There is no reason for concealment. Express your 
opinion, or reason, or whatever you call it.” . 

" It is scarcely an opinion, sir ; it is rather the statement 
of a fact. Mr. Clifford and Miss Ducroz, living in the State 
of New York in these circumstances, were legally man and 
wife. That is all.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE, 


6S 


“ VVe will pass that over. Mr. Clifford has heard some 
nonsense to that effect before, but he is an Englishman 
living under English institutions.” 

He paused, probably expecting me to contest the ques- 
tion ; but I was not there to argue, and I was silent. Pres- 
ently he turned again to the document. 

“ At the end of this time they came together to England, 
and lived in various places, and visited the Continent. 
Disagreements, however, started up between them, and they 
separated. I find,” said Mr. Haldane, looking up from the 
document, ‘‘that this is all Mr. Clifford has written. You 
understand it ? ” 

“Yes,” I replied, “it is very simple.” 

“ The paper, then, may be destroyed,” said Mr. Haldane, 
and he put it in the fire and watched it smoulder away. 

I thought the document brief enough, and its termina- 
tion strangely sudden. I knew, however, that clients, as a 
rule, never tell the whole of the truth — only just as much 
as suits them, leaving you to guess the rest. It is a short- 
sighted policy, prompted by a common human weakness. 

“ What I wish you to do,” said Mr. Haldane, “ on behalf 
of Mr. Clifford, is to ascertain the precise particulars of this 
woman’s career and destiny after the separation. What- 
ever funds are required to prosecute the inquiry will be 
supplied by me, and I will give you now a cheque in 
advance.” 

It was already written, and he detached it from his 
cheque book, and pushed it towards me. The amount was 
£200, “payable to bearer,” and the cheque was not crossed. 
I thought the introduction of the word “ destiny ” in Mr. 
Haldane’s last speech somewhat peculiar, and I asked for 
an explanation of it. 

“ Mr. Clifford believed,” said Mr. Haldane, “ that the 
woman died shortly after the separation.” 

“ Has he any reason now to believe that she is not dead ? ’ 

“Some rumor has reached him, and that is why he 
desires the matter to be thoroughly sifted.” 

“ Is it only now that the rumour has reached him ? ” 

“There was an attempt,” replied Mr. Haldane, “some 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


69 


years ago to blackmail him in connection with this feature 
in the aftair.” 

^ '' Did he resist it ? ’’ 

He did not ; he submitted to it.” 

He did not furnish me with any particulars of this 
► successful attempt to blackmail, and I did not ask him for 
1 them. The impression he produced upon me in the dis- 
» closures he had made was that he had presented me with a 
I very imperfect skeleton of an important secret, and Avas 
purposely concealing from me much that would have natur- 
ally aided me in the task I had undertaken. However, 
I that was his affair ; his conduct was foolish, but if anybody 
suffered it would be himself. There was one question, how- 
ever, the answer to which would give me some sort of a 
starting point for my investigations. 

In what part of England,’' I asked, did Mr. Clifford 
and Miss Ducroz separate ? ” 

'' In no part of England. They were in Paris at the 
time.” 

'' Did they remain in Paris after the separation ? ” 

'' Mr. Clifford left for England immediately.” 

“ And Miss Ducroz ? ” 

'' Remained, I believe, in Paris." 

“ I should like to know the name of the hotel they stop- 
ped at before the final disagreement.” 

'' I will endeavor to obtain it, and will send it on to 
London to you." 

After a few more words had passed between us I wished 
Mr. Haldane good morning, and rose to go. Forgetting 
that the door was locked I tried the handle, and was 
aware that at the same moment some person was trying 
it from the outside. 

''Turn the key,'’ said Mr. Haldane. 

I did so, and as I opened the door a gentleman entered 
the room with the observation. 

" You're tiled in precious close, Haldane.” 

I started at the voice. It was that of the gentleman 
who had met Honoria in Chudleigh Woods last night 
He gave me a sharp look, and passed me, and as I had no 


70 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


possible excuse for lingering, I left the room closing the 
door after me. I had matter for fresh thought now. 
This gentleman, whom Honoria called Austin, was a 
privileged visitor at the Hall ; his manner was that of one 
who was very much at home there. His unceremonious 
entrance into Mr. Haldane’s room proclaimed this, and j 
there was a freedom in his bearing which could only be ; 
accounted for on the assumption that he and his host were i 
on the most intimate and familiar terms. But I was not 
quite satisfied with this assumption, natural as it was, 
there seem to me to be something more in their relations 
to each other — as indicated in the few words I heard Hon- 
oria s betrayer utter — something unrevealed. I was ready 
enough to place the worst construction on everything in 
connection with this gentleman ; the light in which he had 
presented himself in his interveiw with Honoria proved 
him to be heartless, ruthless, and cynical, and it was not 
likely that I should regard him with any favor. Especi- 
ally disagreeable was the refiection that, being on such 
familiar terms with Mr. Haldane, he might be equally so 
with Rachel’s tender-hearted young mistress. I had 
come down to Chudleigh Park for something. Yesterday 
morning I was a free man, with scarcely a care, and in the 
full enjoyment of as many moderate pleasures as a reason- 
able being could wish for, and here was I now plunged 
into the heart of two mysteries, which were taking strong 
hold upon me. 

As I walked slowly through the park to the village I 
heard hasty steps behind me. Turning, I saw Rachel 
endeavoring to overtake me, and I waited for her to come 
up. The sight of her bright eager face was quite a relief 
to me. 

'' As you are going away to-morrow morning,” she 
said, I want to see as much as I can of you.” 

The want is mutual, my dear,” I said ; 'fif you are 
bound for the village we will walk together.” 

She was bound for the village, and we walked side by 
side drawing each other out in honest guileless fashion, I 
with a desire to learn what kind of daughter-in-law she 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


71 


would be to me, she with a desire to learn what kind of a 
father-in-law I would be to her. Our conversation ran 
chiefly upon George, and if ever a man’s ears burnt, his 
must have been in a blaze. It was George this, George 
that, and George the other, as if he were in himself the sun, 
moon, and stars. It was a theme upon which we perfectly 
agreed, and we should have continued speaking of it till we 
parted had it not suddenly occurred to me that Rachel 
could give me some information of the gentleman I was 
thinking of when she joined me. So I turned the conversa- 
tion upon the guests at the Hall, and the intimate friends 
of the Haldane family. She went over the names of the 
gentlemen, but there was no Austin among them. Then, 
at my prompting, she gave me a description of their 
personal appearance till she came to one that answered to 
the person I was curious about. She described him to the 
life, and even mimicked his voice and gestures so cleverly 
that I looked at her in admiration. 

“ What is the name of this gentleman 1 asked. 

Mr. Redwood.” 

“ Do you know his Christian name, Rachel ? ” 

Louis,” she replied. 


CHAPTER X. 

Louis Redwood. If that was the man, and that his true 
name, he had been doubly treacherous to Honoria. That it 
was his true name I did not doubt, for it was scarcely likely 
that an intimate friend of the Haldanes would, or could 
successfully, masquerade in his visits to their home ; 
whereas, to deceive a girl as simple and credulous as 
Honoria was as easy as putting on a glove. My experiences 
in the office of Barlow and Co. had taught me not to rush 
too hastily at conclusions, and had, moreover, furnished me 
with at least half a dozen instances of personal resemblance 
which had led to more or less remarkable complications. I 
proceeded, therefore, to probe this particular matter more 


72 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


closely. Repeating the names of the guests at the Hall, as 
they had been mentioned to me by Rachel, I purposely \ 
introduced /the name of Austin. Rachel interrupted me. 

No,” she said ; there is no one there of that name.” r 

'' I was thinking of another person,” I said, and^ I 
finished the list correctly. ‘‘ Mr. Redwood appears to be a 
privileged visitor. He must be on very intimate terms at v. 
the Hall.” 

'' He is,” said Rachel. 

‘‘And is, I suppose, a favorite there.’’ 

“ Not with everybody. He and Mr. Haldane are to- ‘ 
gether a great deal. I am not in love with him myself.” ; 

“ How about Miss Haldane ? ” 

“Oh, no, not at all,” said Rachel, in a decided tone. * 
“ Mr. Millington, I’ll tell you something if you’ll keep it to ' 
yourself.” 

“ You may depend I’ll keep it to myself, my dear.” 

“ Well, Mr. Redwood pays Miss Haldane a great deal of 
attention ; he rides out with her, he takes her in to dinner, 
and he sent to London for the most beautiful bouquet you 
ever saw for the ball last night. I can’t quite say whether ; 
Miss Haldane sees it as I do, but if everja gentleman showed 
he was in love, Mr. Redwood is showing it to her.” 

“ She confides in you, Rachel.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Millington, she does, but she doesn’t tell me 
everything. The worst of it is Mr. Haldane is on Mr. Red- 
wood’s side.” 

“ Perhaps,” I hazarded, “ it is by her father’s persuasion 
that your young mistress accepts Mr. Redwood’s attentions.” 

“ That’s exactly it,” said Rachel. 

“ Mr. Redwood is rich, I suppose.” 

“ They say there’s no end to his money. He lives in 
London, and gives grand parties and keeps races horses.” 

“ Ah, a fashionable swell.” I was familiar* with the 
names of thejgentlemen celebrated in the racing world, and 
I ran them over in my mind without meeting with Mr. Red- 
wood’s. That was of no account, however, as he probably 
raced, like many others, under an assumed name. “ You 
have forgotten to tell me something, Rachel.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


73 


“ I don’t think so, Mr. Millington.” 

‘ Think a little further,” I said, with a smile. We are 
talking about Miss Haldane, you know. Now, she is a very 
beautiful, sweet, and charming young lady. No wonder 
that Mr. Redwood is in love with her. Why, there must 
be scores of others.” 

“ I don’t say he is the only one.” 

“ It isn’t in nature he should be — it isn’t in nature he 
shouldn’t have a rival.” Rachel colored up, and moved 
her head rather nervously this way and that. '' Don’t run 
away with the idea that I’m poking my nose into secrets 
out of mere curiosity. It strikes me there’s a pot on the 
fire with mischief in it, and with trouble in it as well, and 
who knows whether I mayn’t be able to keep it from boil- 
ing over ? Trust me, Rachel, and just whisper whether 
Miss Haldane isn’t in love with some one.” 

'' I will trust you, Mr. Millington, but it mustn’t go any 
further. She is.” 

I thought as much. Where is he ? ” 

“ Thousands and thousands of miles away.” 

'' And Mr. Redwood has the field all to himself. A 
young gentleman, Rachel ? ” 

"Yes.” 

"Rich?” 

"No. H'e went away to make his fortune, and then he 
is coming back to marry her.” 

" Is this a secret arrangement between them ? ” 

" Oh, no ; Mr. Haldane knows all about it.” 

" How long has the young gentleman been gone ? ” 

" Over a year.” 

" And when is he expected back ? ” 

" There’s no saying. He hasn’t been very fortunate up 
to now.” 

Meanwhile he' and Miss Haldane correspond ? ” 

" Of course they do.” 

And meanwhile, I thought, Mr. Haldane is exerting 
himself to bring about a match between his daughter and 
Mr. Louis Redwood. In my opinion it was altogether a 
bad business. The union of the young girl with the 


74 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


plausible, treacherous man of the world could bring noth- 
ing but unhappiness to her. It was no business of mine, 
but I could not help wishing I could do something to save 
Miss Haldane from the pit that was being dug for her. It 
lay in my power, certainly, to disclose Honoria’s story to 
her, which would show the utter baseness of the man who 
was striving to win her affections, but would it be right 
for me to reveal a secret which by accident had come to 
my knowledge ? It was not as if I were one of the family ; 
I was an entire stranger to all concerned in this unfor- 
tunate tangle of circumstance ; and if I did anything at all, 
the utmost caution must be observed. My cogitations did 
not lead to any satisfactory result ; they left me at the 
exact point I started from, and instead of wasting any 
more time upon useless speculation, I bent my mind upon 
the actual business which claimed my attention. When 
we. arrived at the village Rachel left me with a promise 
that she would see me again before I went back to London. 

“ I think Miss Haldane would like to see you, too,” she 
said. 

‘‘ I shall be ready to wait on her at any moment,” I re- 
plied. 

There was a little commission with which Miss Haldane 
had entrusted me, and which I had not attended to. This 
was to go to Mrs. Porter and pay her for the brooch and 
earrings which she alleged Honoria had stolen from her. It 
did not take long. I found Mrs. Porter much milder- 
tempered than she had been on the previous evening ; the 
night’s reflections had probably shown her that it would 
not be exactly judicious to continue attacking Honoria s 
character with so powerful a champion as Miss Haldane 
ready to defend her. When I had explained the purport 
of my visit, she said — 

I’d rather not say anything more. Let bygones be by- 
gones. 

But I felt it would be best to take the sting out of a 
woman who could not control her temper. 

‘'Miss Haldane insists that you shall be paid,” I said. 
" What value do you place upon the ornaments ? Were 
they gold ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


75 


This question brought a remarkably uncomfortable 
expression into her face, and I laughed to myself, convinced 
from her manner that the articles were brass, and that she 
knew they were. 

'' I bought ’em for gold,” she said. 

Or gilt,” I suggested. 

Or gilt,” she acquiesced. '' I ain’t much of a judge.” 

Inquiring how much she had given for them, she named 
a sum which proved the quality of the lost treasure. Gold 
brooch and earrings are not to be purchased for fourteen 
shillings. I wrote out a receipt for the money, which I 
insisted upon her signing. 

. ‘^Now, Mrs. Porter,” I said, will give you a little 
sensible advice and a little information. The jewellery 
was brass, what they call pinchbeck; you could not else 
have bought them for five times fourteen shillings. I don’t 
blame you for telling your neighbors they are gold ; it was 
a piece of pardonable vanity. The tramp who stole them 
from you tried to pawn them, I dare say, and discovered 
that they were worthless. You have signed a receipt and 
have got the money, and if you ever say another word 
against Honoria you will be made to suffer for it. There’s 
a heavy punishment for libel.” 

“ I’ll never open my lips about her,” said the frightened 
woman. I only wish I’d never set eyes upon her.” 

“ From what I have heard,” I said, severely, you have 
reason to be thankful for it. Miss Haldane paid you 
liberally.” 

And having done my best to clear Honoria’s character, 
I left Mrs. Porter a wiser, if not a better woman. 

At the Brindled Cow ” a surprise awaited me, in the 
shape of a telegram from George. 

The voun^ lady has vanished. Letter to-morrow. 

^ "GEORGE.” 

If this meant anything, it meant that Honoria had 
taken her departure from my house without George’s 
knowledge, and that I should receive a letter in the morn- 
ing explaining matters. 


76 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I was not greatly surprised at Honoria’s disappearance. 
From a young woman in her position, with a mind so ill- 
regulated, anything might be expected. There was no 
special reason why she should trust me. True, I had been 
kind to her, but so must Mr. Redwood have been during 
the early days of their acquaintanceship. He had deceived 
her, why not I ? The very story I had related of j\Iiss 
Haldane’s anxious desire to befriend her might, in her view, 
liave been trumped up. I might even have been an emis- 
sary employed by Mr. Redwood to further entangle her 
and secure her silence. All these conjectures were feasible, 
and I could find no fault with Honoria for entertaining 
them, if any such conjectures had led to her flying from 
my house as she had flown from the Hall. My chief con- 
cern was for Miss Haldane, who must be told of the occur- 
rence, and whose kind intentions were to be frustrated. 

I had ordered dinner for five o’clock, and it was now 
three. What should I do to beguile the intervening couple 
of hours ? There was no Simpson handy, with whom I 
could play bagatelle and cross-purposes at one and the 
same time. There was Mr. Haldane’s business to think over, 
certainly ; but I have habits which are fixed. One of these 
is, where a matter is not immediately pressing, to set it 
aside for serious consideration until a night has passed by, 
and this I had determined to do with the communication 
Mr. Haldane had made to me, postponing all judgment 
upon it till to-morrow. In the forming of just conclusions 
I have found this habit of value to me ; during the interval 
the mind lies fallow, but gathers strength, and there is 
less likelihood of its wandering from the main road. 
Chudleigh Woods held out telnptations for a ramble, and 
to Chudleigh Woods I went. 

Wandering through its lovely mazes, I should probably 
have been late for dinner had I not heard approaching 
footsteps. Bending forward I saw coming towards me Mr. 
Louis Redwood and my good friend Simpson. I step- 
ped aside, so as to be out of sight, and they passed with- 
out seeing me. Pmade no attempt to follow them, fearing 
I might be discovered, but the association of these two 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


77 


men seemed to be another link in the chain of circum- 
stances in which I was now involved. Without being 
able to hear a word that was spoken, there were indica- 
tions that Mr. Redwood was laying down the law to his 
companion, who was listening with humble attention. Was 
Simpson, then, Mr. Redwood’s creature, in his pay ? I had 
learned from Rachel that he had been in Mr. Haldane s 
service many years, and although Mr. Haldane and Mr. 
Redwood were friends, I had observed something in the 
latter gentleman’s manner, when he entered the library 
after my interview with Mr. Haldane, which seemed to 
denote a sense of mastership. If my impression — which I 
admit was formed upon a very slender foundation — were 
correct, there was a traitorous touch in this secret inter- 
view in Chudleigh Woods between Mr. Haldane s friend 
and Mr. Haldane’s confidential valet. For secret interview 
it was. I had come to the Woods for pleasure — not so 
they. Simpson’s smug face was serious, and Mr. Redwood’s 
not less so. Here was I, missed up in plots and counter- 
plots, and strangely interested in matters in w^hich, up till 
now, I had obtained the barest glimpses. These plots and 
counterplots revolved, to all appearance, round the fates 
and fortunes of two young girls. Miss Haldane and Hon- 
oria. Slowly and thoughtfully I walked to the village and 
entered the '' Brindled Cow.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

And there, at the bar, w^as Simpson, smooth, smug, and 
smiling. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, “and 
wondering where you had gone to.” 

“ I’ve been killing time,” I said, “ for want of some- 
thing better to do.” 

“ Mooning about,” said Simpson, with a wink. “ You 
mustn’t come breaking our women’s hearts with your 
London ways. Upon my soul, Millington, it’s hardly fair.’' 


78 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Get along with you,” I said jocosely, entering into his 
humor ; if he could play his game, I could play mine, 
“ I’m the father of a family. You’re only a boy compared 
with me. Have you dined ? ” 

''You don’t mean to say you’re going to ask me to din- 
ner again ? ” exclaimed Simpson. 

" No,” I said, smiling into his smiling face, "I only 
inquired out of curiosity. It wouldn’t run to it, two days 
running. Turn and turn about, you know.” 

He laughed, though he was manifestly disappointed, and 
ready to join me on the smallest encouragement, and 
said, "Let Londoners alone for being clever; country 
clowns aren’t in it with them ; ” and so forth and so forth. 
After indulging in an interchange of pleasantries with him, 
I went up to dinner alone. This may not have been considered 
good policy, my aim being to completely propitiate Simp- 
son, but I think it was. I did not want him to suspect I 
wished him to look upon me as a fool ; he knew I was 
nothing of the kind, and to overact my part, as some 
actors on the stage do, would have been but exposing my 
game. In dealing with a shrewd, cunning man, there are 
many things to take into account. I did not hurry over 
my dinner, either, for the sake of Simpson who, I knew^ 
well enough was waiting for me in the bar below. I was 
right ; he was there when I went down. 

" Thought you would like your revenge at bagatelle,” 
he said. 

" I should,” I said ; " but you must have a drink first.” 

" With pleasure, ”yhe said. " When I see you in London 
it will be my turn.” 

" You don’t think I was serious,” I said, " when I spoke 
of turn and turn about. If you did, you’re not half as sharp 
as I thought.” 

We played at bagatelle, and for the sake of appearance 
I won a game or two, but the balance was on his side, and 
he was very merry over it. When we had played eight or 
nine games I said I was tired, and would take a walk. 

" I’ll go with you,” said Simpson. 

This convinced me of his intention to keep watch upon 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


79 


my movements. It was as good as a declaration that he 
believed I had something to do with Honoria, that he had 
communicated his suspicion to Mr. Redwood, and that he 
had received instructions from that gentleman not to lose 
sight of me. I did not mind. I had no expectation of 
seeing Rachel or Miss Haldane till morning, and I allowed 
Simpson to believe he was fooling me. 

Where to ? he inquired, when we were outside. 

Anywhere,’’ I answered. 

Let's go to the woods,” he suggested. '' I'll show you 
where that murder was committed.” 

I hesitated a moment. “ You're such a devil of a fellow, 

I said, ‘‘going about with pistols in your pocket. It's 
against the law, my boy.” 

He laughed. “Licensed to carry a gun, Millington. 
W^hat’s the difference between a gun and a pistol ? I don t 
carry one commonly, though ; I only took it with me last 
night because I was alone. We won't go if you re 
frightened.” 

“ Frightened ! Here, lay hold of my hand, and grip it 
as hard as you can.” 

It was my left hand I held out to him, being short of 
two fingers on my right. It was what they call ambi-dex- 
terous, and my left hand is as muscular as my right. 
Simpson gripped and squeezed me, and I let him have his 
way for a few moments ; then I put power into my fingers, 
which tightened round his so vigorously that he screamed 
with pain. I could have crushed every bone in his hand. 
When I had given him enough I loosened my grip. 

“ What do you say now,” I asked, “ to a man like me 
being frightened ? ” 

He cried and laughed at the same time — his cries being 
genuine, his laughter sham. 

“ You're a bit of steel,” he said, with tears in his eyes. 

“ Let's go to the woods,” I said. 

It was he who hesitated now, but he put on a show of 
bravery, and we walked to the park, and crossed the bridge 
over the lake. On our way, I succeeded in setting him at 
his ease ; said that from boyhood I was famous for my 


80 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


strength, that I was proud of it, and that nothing ronnd 
me more than to question my courage. F 

“ I m a lamb generally,” I said ; “ but call me a cowardj [ 
and you fire my blood.” v 

“ I’ll take care for the future,” said Simpson, and his slyj | 
cringing tone made me laugh in my sleeve. | 

He took me to the spot where the murder had been 
committed. It was a cruel murder, that of a young girl ; 
you read of such in to-day’s newspapers ; and like too many 
deeds of this description, the monster who perpetrated it 
had never been caught. As Simpson pioneered me through 
the woods I observed that he cast many covert and curious 
glances at me, the object of which was to discover if the 
place was quite new to me. The slightest sign of familiar- 
ity from me would have been a confession that I had met 
Honoria there last night. I was careful to give no sign. 

I should have been a bungler indeed had I not seen through 
Simpson’s transparent devices. Neither upon our return ! 
to the "" Brindled Cow ” did I exhibit any symptoms of 
fatigue, and it was only when Simpson bade me an affection- 
ate good night that I retired to my room. I smiled to think 
that Simpson went away no wiser than he came. Had I 
been a nervous man I should have had dreams on this night, 
but I am by constitution strong and healthy, and I enjoyed 
a dreamless sleep of eight good hours, and rose early enough 
in the morning to be standing at the door of the Brindled 
Cow ” when the local postman came up with the letters. 
There w^ere two, one for the landlord, one for me. I took 
possession of mine, which, as I expected, was from George. 
It was short and to the point : — 

“ My dear father, — My telegram will have told you the 
news. The young lady you brought home has gone. How 
she went and when she went I cannot say. All I know is 
that I waited in the house till one o’clock, when I thought 
it time to give her a call. I went to her door and knocked 
over and over again. There was no answer. ‘What’s 
wrong ? ’ thought I, and I tried the door. It was unlocked, 
and going into the room, it was empty. At whatever time 
she went she must have crept away like a cat. I searched 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


81 


about, and found a paper, which I enclose. Hope to see 
your old face to-morrow. The house isn’t the same without 
you in it. Give my love to Rachel, and say I am all right. 
— Your affectionate son, GEORGE.” 

The paper George referred to was an envelope, contain- 
ing an enclosure. I drew it out, and read : 

Austin, — I am going to put an end to myself, and you 
have driven me to it. You are my murderer. You have 
ruined and deserted me, and I have nothing to live for. Be 
kinder to the next girl you bring to shame than you have 
been to HONORIA.” 

It was the paper which she had written on the bridge 
last night, before endeavoring to carry out her wretched 
intention. I made a memorandum of the incident and of 
the circumstances under which the paper came into my 
possession, and having dated and signed it, put it in my 
pocketbook. It was, as I was aware, legally useless, but it 
was, at least, moral evidence against Mr. Louis Redwood, if 
at any time in the future its production would assist to- 
wards any good end. Honoria must have dropped it by 
accident in my room, otherwise it could not have fallen into 
George’s hands. 

There was nothing left for me to do in Chudleigh 
except to see Miss Haldane if she wished, and to take leave 
of Rachel, so I got my breakfast over quickly, and settled 
my bill at the '' Brindled Cow.” 

'' I suppose,” I said to the landlord, that I can find a 
bed here if I come this way again.” 

'' I promise you that, sir,” said the landlord. 

I was tempted to make some inquiries of him respecting 
Mr. Redwood, but I held my tongue. Simpson was a 
regular customer at the Brindled Cow,” and the questions 
I put would almost certainly reach his ears. Instead, there- 
fore, of taking a step in that direction I took another tack, 
and spoke a few words in praise of Simpson, which it would 
gratify that very astute individual to have retailed to him. 
My observation of the village and its inhabitants convinced 
me that it and they were under the absolute domination of 
Mr. Haldane. All the surrounding property and every 


82 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


house on it belonged to him ; no leases were granted ; the 
villagers were yearly tenants, liable to be turned away at 
any time. The power wielded by the master of the estate 
was autocratic in the most complete sense of the word. 
Thinking of this as I strolled towards the park, looking out 
for Rachel, some remarks made by Simpson came to my 
mind: '"This is a fine park, isn’t it ? Wish it was mine, 
without any mortgages on it. Mortgages are the very devil. 
A man may be the master of a great estate, and it may be 
no better than a white elephant.” There is never smoke 
without fire, and these words, for which there must be some 
foundation, seemed to indicate that Mr. Haldane’s tenure 
was not as safe as ii> n^ppeared to be. A fair outside is all 
very well, but the^e generally something darker hidden 
within. 

There was Rachel coming to meet me. What greatly 
impressed me in favor of George’s sweetheart were her cheer- 
fulness and briskness. I saw that they were natural to her, 
and that her disposition and good temper would brighten a 
home. Good heart, clear eye, brisk movement, pleasant 
voice, white teeth, pretty face, compact figure — what more 
could any father wish for in a wife for the son he loved, 
add to this common-sense, and you get very close to per- 
fection. 

Of course, after bidding me good morning, her first 
question was. 

Have you heard from George ? ” 

''I have, my dear, and there’s news in his letter. 
Honoria’s disappeared again.” 

'' O, dear ! But you know where she is ? ” 

Not the slightest idea. She left withou a word, and 
without George seeing her.” 

'' I’m not sorry for that,” said Rachel. 

George says she must have crept away like a cat.” 

Is that all he says ? ” 

‘‘Nothing more about Honoria.” 

“ But about anybody else ? ” 

“ Will be glad when I get home again.” 

“ I wonder,” said Rachel, “ will he be such a tease as 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


83 


you are. The idea of you trying to make me believe that 
he could write you a letter without saying a word about 
me ! ” 

“ What a forgetful old father-in-law I shall make.' 
There is something about you. Here it is. ‘ Give my 
love to Rachel, and say I am all right.’ I hope that is 
satisfactory ? ” 

“ I shall not tell you,” she said, saucily ; '' I shall tell 
George. Now come and see Miss Haldane.” 

The young lady was in the tennis-court giving instruc- 
tions to a gardener, whom she left directly she saw me. 
As briefly as possible, for my time was running short, I 
related what had occurred, making, however, no reference 
to what Honoria had written on the bridge. Miss Haldane 
was visibly distressed at the news. 

‘"But what is to be done, Mr. Millington ? ” she asked. 

“ Nothing,” I replied, '' except to wait and hear from 
Honoria. If she writes to me I am ready, as I told her,! 
to do anything I can to assist her. She thoroughly under-l 
stands that you are her friend, and whether she will allow* 
us to aid her depends now upon herself.” 

'' Honoria is proud,” said Miss Haldane, and the cruel 
and unjust accusation brought against her by Mrs. Porter 
before all the people, and the way she was treated by our 
servants here — I have heard something of that, Mr. Milling- 
ton — may have had a bad effect upon her. She may look 
upon us as her enemies — poor Honoria ! If she does not 
write, will you try and find her ? ” 

'' I promise faithfully I will. There is one good thing 
— she is not without means. She has the money you gave 
me for her, and she cannot want for a few weeks. I must 
bid you good morning. Miss Haldane ; I have to catch a 
train.” 

'' I will not detain you ; but I owe you some money. 
You paid Mrs. Porter something, did you not ? I was 
almost forgetting it.” 

I had forgotten it myself, and I now told her the par- 
ticulars of my interview with the woman, and showing 
her the receipt for the fourteen shillings asked her what I 
should do with it. 


84 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


You had better keep it/' she replied. “ It must not be 
given to Honoria, for it would make her think that we 
believed, after all, she took the things, and that we had 
bought her off. I am glad Mrs. Porter can say nothing 
more against her. What do I owe you, Mr. Millington ? 
Pray do not leave out anything, or I shall never dare to 
ask you to do me another service. It must have been an 
expensive journey to London and back, and please remem- 
ber that I have plenty of money." 

I pencilled some figures and added them up, and she 
handed me the money, amply repaying me for my trouble 
by thanking me cordially and shaking hands with me. 

“ I can spare you, Rachel," she said to her maid, with 
an affectionate smile. “ You can go with Mr. Millington to 
the station if you wish." 

Thank you, miss," said Rachel, and we were presently 
in the park. 

“ I shall be here again in a few weeks," I said to Rachel, 
perhaps sooner. I am doing some private business for 
Mr. Haldane, but it must not be known that anything of 
that kind brings me here." 

I shall not speak about it," said Rachel, “but I should 
like to ask you something." 

“ What is it, my dear ? ITl answer if I can.” 

“ Is the private business anything to do with Miss Hal- 
dane." 

“ Nothing." 

“ Or with Mr. Redwood ?” 

“ Nothing." 

“ Thank you, Mr. Millington. That is all I want to 
know." 

Then we fell to upon our pet theme — George — and 
chatted amicably and pleasantly till we were about half- 
way to the station, when I stopped. 

“ We’ll say good bye here, Rachel." 

“ But I’m coming to see you off" 

“ No, my dear. If I’m not mistaken I shall have ano- 
ther person to see me off, if he doesn’t waylay me before I 
get to the station, and I should prefer that he doesn’t see 
us too much together." 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE, 


85 


“ Who is the other person ? ” 

“ Simpson. He has taken a violent liking to me/’ 

1 Has he ? ” said Rachel, with sudden alarm. Anything 
j bo do with Mr. Haldane’s private business ? ” 

! ‘‘ No, my dear, though he wouldn’t have the slightest 

jDbjection to having his finger in the pie.” 

, '' That’s Mr. Simpson all over. Always poking and 

prying about. Don’t trust him, Mr. Millington.” 

'' I don’t intend to, and I’ll give you three good reasons 
v^^hy.” 

"Well?” 

" First, he is as sly as a weasel.” 

; " Yes, he is, Mr. Millington.” 

" Second, he is as cunning as a fox.” 

" Yes, he is.” 

" Third, he resembles a limpet in his sticking qualities.” 

" Yes, Jie does,” said Rachel, laughing. 

"*Now,. I don’t like weasels, or foxes or limpets ; and 
I when a gentleman ” 

" Oh, no,” protested Rachel ; " not a gentleman ! ” 

When an individual, then, combines all the bad quali- 
ties of these three creatures in his own person, I like him 
still less. But at the same time, my dear, I don’t tell him 
so. Rachel, it just occurs to me that you might write me 
a, letter now and then.” 

" I shall never know what to say ! ” said Rachel, 

" if you have nothing to say, don’t write. But some- 
thing may happen that it would be as well for me to know. 
There’s no telling whether I might not be of assistance in 
the case of a difficulty.” 

" Do you mean about Miss Haldane ? ” 

" You’ve hit it, my dear.” 

" And Mr. Redwood ? ” 

" You’ve hit it again, my dear.” 

" And about the young gentleman — ” she paused here, 
and I took up her words. 

" Who’s trying to make a fortune over the water ? 
You’ve hit it for the third time, my dear.” 

" I think I understand you,” said Rachel, with a 


86 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


thoughtful look in her bright eyes ; '' and I will write I 
you if there’s any occasion.” j 

'' It’s a bargain,” I said, patting her shoulder ; and whatl ,| 
more, it’s a confidential matter between you and me thi i 
we’ll keep to ourselves, the only other person I shall adiai | 
into our confidence being George. Good-bye, my dei^ I 
I’ll give your love to George. If I bad chosen for him, [ | 
could not have chosen better.” 

'' You are very good, sir,” said the grateful girl. Yoj i 
and George.” | . 

We kissed each other, and I strode to the railwa^ , 
station with a feeling of gladness that my visit to Chud j 
leigh had turned out so well, as regards George and hii I 
sweetheart. The prospect in other quarters was not* 
cheering. 

As I anticipated, Simpson was on the platform wait™ 
for me. ^ ] 

Couldn’t let you go, Millington, without a parti^j 
hand-shake,” said he. 

‘‘ It would have been very unfriendly,” said I, if yoi 
hadn’t come to see the last of me.” 

Not the last of you, I hope,” said he. 

Speaking figuratively, Simpson, it’s quite on the card( 
you’ll see a good deal more of me.” 

“ Oh, yes, in London.” 

'' Here in Chudleigh, as well. Can you keep a secret ?" 
Close as the grave.” 

'' I am thinking of investing in land about here. A fe* 
spare thousands — couldn’t do better with ’em. Don’t blab, 
or the prices will run up. Mum’s the word.” 

I put my finger to my lips, jumped into the train, and 
left him staring at me. Weasel, fox, and limpet as he wd| 
he was rather slow in making up his mind. 


i 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


87 


THE SECOND LINK-SUPPLIED BY MR 
BARLOW, PRIVATE INQUIRY, 
SURREY STREET, W.C. 


CHAPTER XII. 

In the railway carriage I turned my serious attention, for 
the first time, to the commission I had undertaken for Mr. 
Haldane, namely, to trace the history of Adeline Ducroz 
after she and Julius Clifford had separated in Paris ; and 
it was only then that I properly estimated the extreme 
barrenness of the information he had — grudgingly, as it 
seemed to me — doled out. 

First, the names of the two principal actors in a drama 
which certainly could not claim the merit of originality. 

Second, the name of the steamer in which these actors 
made the voyage to New York. 

'Third, the year, but not the month, of the vessePs 
departure .and arrival 

Fourth, some vague particulars of the state of affairs 
when Miss Ducroz and Mr. Clifford met on board the 
Circassia,” and of the life the couple led in the States and 
elsewhere. 

Nothing more. 

Mr. Haldane’s method of imparting the story to me did 
not increase any respect I may have felt for him, nor did 
it win my confidence. It was a shuffling, evasive, vacillat- 
ing kind of method which innocent or strong-minded men 
never employ, and it did not blind me in the least. 1 even 
began to question how much of the story was true, and 
how much of it false, but I soon put a stop to this mental 
debate, knowing that to commit myself to definite conclu- 


88 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


sions upon evidence so entirely circumstantial would be 
likely to mislead me. Long before I reached London I 
had come to the end of my deliberations, and was dis- 
satisfied with the result. George saw this dissatisfaction 
expressed in my face upon my arrival home, but was 
ignorant of its cause. I asked him about Honoria, but he 
had nothing to add to the information he had given me in 
his letter. She had disappeared, that was all he knew ; 
the sitting-room she had occupied was in perfect order, and 
it really became a doubtful point whether she was in the 
house in the morning when I took my departure for Chud- 
leigh Park. 

'' Have you made any inquiries in the neighborhood ? ” 
I asked. 

“ No,’' replied George, “ I thought it best to do nothing 
till you came home, unless you telegraphed to the con- 
trary. The paper I found in the room in which she speaks 
of committing suicide gave me a terrible turn, and I didn’t 
know what to make of it. I should have gone straight to 
the police if I hadn’t been afraid of making things worse, 
and if I hadn’t remembered what you told me of the girl. 
' Best leave it to dad,’ I thought ; ‘ he’ll be sure to do the 
right thing.’ ” 

‘‘I’m not so sure myself,” I said “but I’m glad you kept 
quiet. I don’t think there’s much fear of Honoria doing 
any harm to herself. The fit has passed off, and she has a 
little money in her pocket to help her along ; and when 
that’s gone she knows where to come for more. I don’t 
want to lose sight of her if I can help it, but I’ve an idea 
that it depends more upon her than upon me whether I set 
eyes on her again. However, I’m going out to ask a ques- 
tion or two ; she can hardly have gone from the neighbor- 
hood without somebody seeing her.” 

That was true enough, but I did not succeed in coming 
across anyone who remembered seeing such a young woman 
as I described, and at the end of my inquiries I was no wiser 
than when I began. I returned home and spent a quiet 
evening, thinking of what was before me, and the longer I 
thought the more convinced did I become that it would be 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


89 


folly for me even to commence the task I had undertaken 
single-handed. In such inquiries certain machinery is ne- 
cessary which 1 had not at my command. Where was such 
machinery to be met with ? Where else but in the firm of 
Barlow & Co., of which I was once a partner. And what 
more able man could I ask to assist me, to take, indeed, 
command of the ship, than Mr. Barlow himself ? The mo- 
ment I decided to call him in I felt relieved,_and before 
I went to bed I posted a note to him, asking him to come 
to see me the following evening at half-past seven for the 
double purpose of business and pleasure. “ It is important 
business,” I wrote, “ and there will be a bit of supper at 

half-past nine.” , , xu 

My letter posted, George and I stopped up later than 
usual, and I did not consider it a breach of confidence to 
tell him something of what had occurred at Chudleigh Park 
and the Manor House, and what had passed between riie 
and xVIr. Haldane. I did not reveal everything ; it would 
not have been prudent ; therefore he did not know that 
“ Austin,” to whom Honoria had so despairingly written, 
and Mr. Bed wood were one person. He was rather curi- 
ous about Simpson, whose acquaintance, I said, he would 
probably have an opportunity of making, as that worthy 
had promised to pay me a visit when he came to London. 
Whatever subject we spoke upon took unfailingly one di- 
rection, Rachel, and I dare say he dreamt of her when he 
went to bed. My dreams were of Honoria, who was the 
most vivid bit of color in the picture which the last two or 
three days had presented to me. 

At ten o’clock the following morning I received a tele- 
gram from Mr Barlow, to the effect that he would be with 
me at half-past seven in the evening. I may say here that 
he is a man for whom I have a sincere regard,^ and that he 
is what some would consider a “character. He is the 
most methodical being I have ever met with, and the 
records he keeps of the cases in which he is enpged are 
models of precision. They are sometimes more than that, 
they are literary models— for which he has a special reason. 
With a conscientious regard for the profession— he insists 


90 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


upon calling it a '' profession ” — in which he is engaged, anj 
sternly refusing to have anything to do with disreputabll 
cases, Mr. Barlow is fired with an ambition to become a 
author, and has confided to me that at some future timcj 
when he has retired, as I have done, from active businessj 
it is his intention, without mentioning names or betraying 
confidence, to use in a literary way, some of the experiences 
he has gained in the profession ” he has practised for a 
great number of years. His discretion may be relied upon, 
and if he carries out his intentions the interesting resuH 
may find a place by-and-bye on the book and railway 
stalls. 

Punctually at half-past seven he made his appearance in 
Shepherd’s Bush, and George, after the first friendly salu- 
tations, left us alone, having received the cue from me. 

''A fine manly fellow,” said Mr. Barlow, looking admir- 
ingly after George. “ I don’t know what I wouldn’t give if 
I had a son on the same model.” 

Mr. Barlow is a married man without children, and I 
have always been sorry for him and his wife, who are just 
the sort of people who ought to have their house full of 
youngsters — in respect of which generally it is my opinion 
there is an unfair division, many having more than they 
know what to do with, and others who long for them hav- 
ing none at all. . That, perhaps, is the reason why they 
take up with cats and dogs. If communism could be 
brought to bear upon the matter, some whose quivers are 
too full and some \yhose quivers are empty would be eager 
to join the ranks, and Mr. Barlow and his wife would be 
among the first recruits. 

There was a jug of beer on the table, and pipes and 
tobacco, and when the pipes were set going we began to 
talk about the business which had brought us together. I 
commenced by telling him of George’s love affair, and went 
on to the letter I received from Mr. Haldane, and how it 
was because I wanted to see George’s sweetheart that I 
went down to Chudleigh Park. I related everything that 
occurred there, and Mr. Barlow sat and puffed and moistened 
his lips with the beer, and never interrupted me once. That 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


91 


was his way ; to hear the story right through, and then to 
take it to pieces. I was altogether different from him ; my 
impatience always got the better of me, and I felt myself 
forced to interrupt the speaker, with questions and 
observations. Then again, my features betrayed me, my 
feelings showing themselves. Mr. Barlow’s face was a mask, 
and you could never guess what was going on inside of 
him. I was a little disappointed that he could be so 
impassive with me, and when I had finished all I had to say, 
I told him so. 

'' It’s habit, Millington,” he said, nothing more ; don’t 
worry about it. I drop the professional, and resume the 
friendly. Here’s to you and yours, with my best wishes 
for George and his sweetheart. I shall expect to be invited 
to the wedding.” He buried his face in the jug, and took 
a long draught. ''And now for a chat. You’ve told me 
what has surprised me, though I didn’t shew it; before 
we’ve done, you’ll hear what’ll surprise you. It’s a queer 
story all round, and likely to be queerer as it goes on. There 
are under-currents, Millington ; we’re only on the surface 
as yet. Honoria, now. I shouldn’t wonder if there’s a 
future before her. You’d be glad to keep track of her.” 

"I should.” 

" A fine girl, you say.” 

" A very handsome girl.” 

" Without balance.” 

" She has given proof of that.” 

" A valuable possession, Millington, balance. People that 
haven’t got it get into scrapes; people that have got it, 
don’t. We’ll see what can be done about Honoria in a 
quiet way. You never heard me prophecy, did you ? ” 

" Never.” 

" I’ve rather taken to it lately — to myself. Experience 
teaches, you know. There’s nothing uncommon in the part 
Honoria plays in the story you’ve told me.” 

" Unfortunately, no.” 

" She comes in by a side door, so to speak — commences 
with a small part. Wonder, now, whether the character will 
grow. No, nothing uncommon about her, but something 


92 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


remarkably uncommon about this Mr. Clifford and Miss 
Ducroz, and something still more uncommon that we — 
partners once, friends always — should be engaged in this ! 
affair."’ 

I don’t see what you are driving at,” I said. 

You’ll see soon. Carry your mind back. When you 
were in the office we did some business for Mr. Haldane.” 

“ I remember we did, but it was entirely in your hands. 

I was not acquainted with the particulars.” 

‘‘ Neither was I,” said Mr. Barlow. It originated in 
letters he had received — threatening letters — and he didn’t 
show them to me. Kept them close, and when I threw out 
a hint that he should let me read them, took no notice. As 
well as I could make out, an agent, acting for a client 
whose name did not transpire, demanded money under 
threats of exposure about something or other, and Mr. , 
Haldane had made up his mind to pay the money to this I 
agent, to save trouble, he said. He was as mysterious to 
me in his communications years ago as he was to you only 
yesterday or the day before. The affair was settled, that is 
all I know, and the money was handed over. I never pry, 
Millington, when I find it’s not to a client's taste ; the re- 
sponsibility is his, not mine. What I am asked to do, and 
paid to do, in the way of business, I do if I can, and there’s 
an end of it as far as I am concerned. But would you con- 
sider it strange if the affair he entrusted to you a day or 
two since has anything to do with the affair he entrusted to 
the firm a good many years ago ?” 

“ I should.” 

I shouldn’t. The world is full of open graves. I gather 
from you that the interest you take in the present affair is 
not purely a professional interest.” 

“ It is not.” 

“ Talking to you,” said Mr. Barlow, ‘‘ is not like talking 
to a stranger. We’re in confidence. What passes in this 
room is under seal. I said you would hear what would 
surprise you. Here it is. You are engaged to discover all 
about Adeline Ducroz after J ulius Clifford left her in Paris 
towards the end of the year 1867. I am engaged to dis- 
cover all about Julius Clifford from that year to this.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


93 


“ You are joking,” I said, greatly surprised by this 
singular disclosure. 

“ Not at all. The affair was placed in my hands three 
weeks ago, and I have already made some progress. It is 
a curious coincidence, and will lead to developments. I 
have something still more strange to disclose. In this 
search I have two clients, who appear to be working inde- 
pendently of each other. Let us argue the matter out, and, 
up to a certain point, join forces. It will save waste of 
power. What do you say ?” 

I say, agreed.” 

And I say, agreed. I will be as frank with you as you 
have been with me, and so that there shall be no confusion 
I will speak of my clients separately, as client number one 
and client number two. It is just twenty-two days since 
client number one introduced liimself to me, saying that he 
had come upon recommendation, having heard a high 
opinion of me. He wished to place some business in my 
hands, and after two or three preliminary inquiries — you 
know how particular I am in the nature of the business I 
undertake — I saw that there was nothing objectionable in 
it, and I consented to accept the commission. Some of the 
particulars given to me tally with some of the particulars 
given to you. For instance the names of two persons, Mr. 
Julius Clifford and Miss Adeline Ducroz. Also the name 
of the steamer in which these two persons travelled to New 
York — the Circassia. Also, the date of the departure of 
this ship, my information being more exact than yours, 
the month being named as well as the year, March, 1867. 
Also, the circumstance of Mr. Clifford and Miss Ducroz — 
I will keep those names for the sake of clearness — living 
together in New York as man and wife. Also, their return 
to England, and their being together in Paris. Also, the 
circumstance of Mr. Clifford leaving the lady in Paris, and 
returning, presumably, to England, concerning which place 
of return my instructions are not precise. So far, the bare 
bones of the case presented to you and presented to me. 
In other important respects, upon which my information 
is much fuller than yours, there are serious and important 


94 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


discrepancies, of which you shall presently judge. No in- 
structions were given to me to trace Miss Ducroz, my mission 
being to trace Mr. Clifford ; by which I infer that my client 
know5 where the lady is to be found, as your client, I 
presume knows where the gentleman is to be found. You 
agree with me upon this last point.'’ 

“ Certainly." 

Now mark. Client number one does not inform me 
what he intends to do when he knows where to lay hands 
on Mr. Clifford. All he says is, ' Discover him, and tell me 
where he is to be found,’ and no further instructions are 
given to me at present.’’ 

“ Have you succeeded in discovering Mr. Clifford ? ’’ I 
asked. 

‘'Up to the hour I closed my office to-day I have not 
succeeded in discovering him. For the present I dismiss 
client number one, and come to client number two. This 
day week he sent in his card, and was shown into my 
private room. ‘ Mr. Barlow,’ he said. ‘ I am Mr. Barlow,’ 
I answered. ‘ I wished to see you personally because I pre- 
fer to do with principals,’ said he. ‘ I want you to ascertain 
for me all that it is possible to ascertain of a lady and a gentle- 
man from about the year 1867 ’ — mark the year, Milling- 
ton — ‘ to the present day. Will that be difficult ? ’ ‘It de- 
pends,’ I said, ‘ upon circumstances. 1867 is a long way 
back. You must give me a starting point.’ ‘ I will tell you 
as much as I know myself,’ said he, ‘ and perhaps you will 
say it is very little. But the greater the trouble the greater 
the charge. I suppose.’ ‘ That is the case,’ I said, ‘ and I 
should require a sum in hand for preliminary expenses.’ 
‘You can have anything in reason,’ he said, and I fancied 
he looked down on me rather. This fancy getting into my 
head I was half inclined to decline the commission there 
and then, but I thought it would look unprofessional, and 
that I would carry it a little further before I refused it. 

‘ The names of the parties ? ’ I asked. Imagine my surprise 
when he answered, ‘ Mr. Clifford — I am not sure about the 
first name — and Miss Ducroz — I am not sure about hers.’ 

^ Any more particulars ? ’ I required. He consulted a paper, 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


95 


and said, ' Some time during that year they had rooms in 
Norfolk street, Strand ; and sometime during that year they 
went to America in a steamer called the Circassia. That is 
about the extent of my knowledge.’' ' You can leave the 
matter with me,' I said, "and I will see what can be done.' 
That was all that passed between us, except that he put 
twenty pounds in bank notes on the table before he went 
away, and that I said that if any of the money was spent 
I would give him an account of it, and that if nothing was 
done he should have the twenty pounds back. Now, Mill- 
ington, what do you think is the name of client number 
two ? " 

"" How is it possible for me to guess ? ” I said. 

""Considering you know the gentleman," replied Mr. 
Barlow, "" it is quite possible. His card bears the name of 
Mr. Louis Redwood, Honoria's friend." 


CHAPTER XIII. 

This was strange news indeed. What did all this hunting 
down mean, each huntsman, without the other s knowledge, 
after the same quarry ? I could find no words to express 
my astonishment, and I gazed in silence at the shrewd face 
of Mr. Barlow. 

Presently he spoke. "" I have not made up my mind 
what I shall do about Mr. Redwood's commission, but I 
shall probably throw it up in the course of this week. 
You have let in light upon his character, and I don't care 
to work for scoundrels. He means mischief, depend upon 
it." 

"" To whom ? " 

"" To Mr. Clifford," replied Mr. Barlow, with a meaning 
glance at me, "" and to Miss Ducroz as well, most likely. It 
is a lively tangle, with more than one black sheep in it. 
Mr. Haldane has given you one version of the story of Mr. 
Clifford and Miss Ducroz ; I will give you another. Fill 
your pipe, and settle yourself comfortably ; it will take a 
little time to tell properly. 


96 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Before I proceed to narrate what Mr. Barlow imparted 
to me, I must remind my readers of his literary proclivities. 
With a view to future reputation as an author he culti- 
vates a style of his own, and whenever he gets the chance 
of putting the pieces of a puzzle together, and of weaving 
a story out of them, he makes the most of his opportunities 
in the way of embellishments. I must do him the justice 
to say that he always keeps to the main facts ; he does not 
introduce imaginative matter, and any adornment he uses 
is used on the right side. He is ingenious, but his ingen- 
uity is kept within bounds by his common sense and his 
knowledge of human character. With these preliminary 
remarks I will let him speak for himself. 

‘‘ Some twenty years ago there lived, down Oxford 
way, a married couple of the name of Kennedy. What 
their actual circumstances were I cannot say, but they 
lived in fair style, and were held in good repute. Mr. 
Kennedy was hn easy-going gentleman, and his wife an 
amiable, kind-hearted, and charitable lady. They had no 
children of their own, but had adopted a child, the orphan 
daughter of a distant relative. The name of this girl was 
Adeline Ducroz, who, at the time I am speaking of, was 
somewhat over twenty years of age. She was a high- 
spirited young lady, fond of gaiety and pleasure, and 
rather difficult to control, and this, perhaps, was the reason 
why, when she grew to womanhood, she did not get along 
as well as she might with the good people who had brought 
her up. Although Mrs. Kennedy had strict ideas as to 
propriety of conduct she had not sufficient strength of 
character to exercise proper control over a young, impres- 
sionable, and*excitable nature. Nothing serious, however, 
occurred between them until the appearance upon the 
scene of a gentleman whose acquaintance Miss Ducroz 
had accidentally made outside the family circle. As 
to the manner in which this acquaintanceship was 
formed there is some ambiguity, but none whatever in 
his prosecution of the intimacy. He and Miss Ducroz met 
frequently, but he did not come to Mr. Kennedy’s house, 
and this in itself was enough to throw doubt upon the 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


97 


honesty of his intentions. A little while after this was dis- 
covered Mrs. Kennedy remonstrated with Adeline, and 
made remarks upon the impropriety of clandestine meet- 
ings which the young lady resented. There are other fea- 
tures in the intimacy which alarmed the Kennedys. The 
gentleman was considerably older than Adeline, he was 
a stranger in the neighborhood, and Adeline refused to dis- 
close his name. When she was asked the reason for this 
concealment, she answered that it was his wish his name 
should not be revealed, at least for a time. It was evident 
that she was acting under his instructions, and that he had 
obtained a certain mastery over her. Mr. Kennedy might 
have sought him out for the purpose of forcing an explana- 
tion from him, but it unfortunately happened at this period 
that his entire attention was claimed by the state of his 
worldly affairs. Speculations into which he had entered 
had turned out disastrously, and after satisfying the 
demands made upon him he found himself almost beggared. 
He was compelled to give up his home in Oxford, and, 
f pending arrangements he was endeavoring to make for a 
new home and a fresh start in life, he came to London with 
his wife and adopted daughter, and took lodgings in Brix- 
ton. This might have proved a blessing to the young lady 
had it caused a break in her intimacy with her gentleman 
friend, but no such break occurred. Within a few days of 
their arrival in London he made his appearance again, and 
he and Adeline continued to meet. Again did Mrs. Ken- 
nedy remonstrate, to as little purpose as before. ' If he is 
courting you honestly,’ said Mrs. Kennedy, " let him come 
here to our home and yours.” It was of no avail ; Ade- 
I line’s lover did not present himself, and things went on in 
this miserable way until Mr. Kennedy’s arrangements were 
completed for a fresh start. When Adeline was told that 
, the new home was to be established in America, in one of 
the Western States, she was dumfounded. 'I cannot go,’ 
1 she cried. ‘I will not go!’” 

I “ I must make a break here,” said Mr. Barlow ; can- 
! didly, I must make a break, to say a few words on my 
own account. I don’t expect you to believe, Millington, 


98 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


that everything I put into the mouths of the characters 
who play their parts in this drama of real life is exactly 
what was said by them, but without some such conjectural 
remarks and some such conjectural dialogue the drama 
would be incomplete. I am simply doing what is done in 
a trial built up on circumstantial evidence. I am doing what 
the lawyers do in these cases, building up my case. I do 
not pretend that Adeline said, ' 1 cannot go ; I will not go 
but the words, in their effect, are as near as you can get (no 
reporter being present to take them down) when she said 
she would not go to America with Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, 
and in my opinion thay portray the scene faithfully. Nor 
do I pretend to state exactly what passed between her and 
Mr. Clifford. You will hear something more of these inter- 
views before I have finished. In such a case as this, and 
in such a story as I am telling, from instructions and in- 
formation I have received, we must be guided by our com- 
mon sense. ^ It is a fact that at first Adeline did refuse to 
to go, and it is a fact that during the three weeks that 
elapsed between the day that the Kennedy s announced that 
they were going to America and the day they embarked 
on board the Circassia, Mr. Clifford made himself scarce — 
in plainer terms, that he and Adeline had no further clande- 
stine meetings. Whether he had made proposals to Ade- 
line to which she would not consent, or whether he was 
tired of his pursuit of her, I will not now state, but it is 
undeniably true that he was following the young lady 
with base intentions, and that she, believing in the honor- 
able professions which such men make in such adventures, 
did not see through him until the hour arrived when he 
made plain proposals from which she shrank. You per- 
ceive, therefore, that I believe that, up to this time, Ade- 
line was a virtuous girl — weak, of course, but still virtu- 
ous. For it was on the evening of this very day that she 
said to Mrs. Kennedy, after coming from a meeting with 
her lover, that she hoped they would forgive her, and that 
she would go with them to the new home across the seas, 
bo a peace was patched up, and preparations made for de- 
parture, during which my gentleman did not put in an 
appearance. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


99 


Their astonishment, therefore,'’ continued Mr. Barlow, 
'was all the greater when they saw him onboard the Cir- 
cassia as the vessel was steaming out of the Mersey. Mrs. 
Kennedy knew who it was by the heightened color in Ade- 
, line’s face, and by the look of joy which flashed into her 
eyes when they fell upon him. There was sadness in Mrs 
Kennedy’s eyes, and her face paled, as she realized the sit- 
uation. ' Introduce us,’ she said to Adeline, and the young 
lady went and spoke to him, and came back, saying that 
he would rather not be introduced, as she had thrown 
doubts upon his honor. That was rather a lofty way of 
putting it, and rather a mean way, too, of getting out of a 
difficulty ; and, of course, Mrs. Kennedy could not ask a 
second time for an introduction. She could find out his 
name, however, through the passenger list, and she did. It 
was Mr. Julius Clifford. So here we have them in com- 
pany on board the Circassia, Mr. Julius Clifford and Miss 
Adeline Ducroz. 

'' They were very much together during that voyage. 

' Mrs. Kennedy, being a bad sailor, could not keep a watch- 
ful eye on them, but she heard it from the other passengers, 

, and Adeline’s blithe spirits showed that she was happy 
and again under his influence. The debatable question now 
with Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy was whether Adeline would 
go with them to the West. They asked her, and she said, 
without hesitation, " Where else should I go ?’ Where else, 
indeed ! ' And your friend, Mr. Clifford ?’ asked Mrs. Ken- 
nedy. 'He has some business in New York,’ answered 
Adeline, ' which will detain him a week or two, and 
then he is coming on to us.’ All false, as was proved ; he 
|, had anticipated the questions, and had directed her how to 
! answer them. Believing she spoke the truth the Kennedys 
were put off their guard, which was just what Mr. Clif- 
ford wanted, and when they arrived in New York neither 
I he nor Adeline was to be found. The Kennedys were 
deeply grieved, but they were powerless ; Adeline was not 
1 their daughter, she was over age, and her own mistress ; 
I they had not the slightest authority over her. It had been 
their intention to remain in New York only one night, and 


100 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


to start the following day for the West ; but they ^ 
remained a week, hunting for the misguided girl. 

I don't know what good they expected to do when I 
they found her, but they had a duty to perform, and ’ 
they performed it. They had almost given her up in j 
despair when they met her and Mr. Clifford in Central 
Park. Miv Clifford would have hurried Adeline away, but 
Mrs. Kennedy stood in their path. ‘ What is your plea- 
sure ? ’ asked Mr. Clifford ‘ Let me speak to you, Adeline,’ 
.said Mrs. Kennedy. ‘ Speak then,’ said Mr. Clifford. 
‘Adeline and I have no secrets from each other.’ Miu 
Kennedy wished to ask Adeline if she was married, but 
she did not dare to put the question in the presence of Mr. 
Clifford ; it would have been an open insult. She asked, 
therefore, instead, ‘ Are you happy, Adeline ? ' ‘ Are 

you happy Adeline ? ’ repeated Mr. Clifford. ‘ Quite 
happy,’ replied Adeline, and indeed she looked as if 
she was. ‘ Quite happy,’ repeated Mr. Clifford. ‘ I 
hope you are satisfied. Come, Adeline.’ ‘ One moment,’ 
said poor Mrs. Kennedy. ‘Are you going to live in 
America ? ’ ‘ Our movements,’ said Mr. Clifford, with his 

eyes on Adeline’s face, ‘ are uncertain.’ And such was his 
power over her that she repeated his words as he had re- 
peated Mrs. Kennedy’s. ‘ Our movements,’ she said, ‘ are 
uncertain.’ Though I Iiave little doubt that a moment 
before she did not know whether they were so or not. ‘ You 
have our address,’ said Mrs. Kennedy. ‘ W^e shall be glad 
to see you at any time.’ ‘ Much obliged,’ drawled Mr. 
Clifford. ‘ And if ever you want a friend,’ said Mrs. 
Kennedy, ‘ you will always find one in us.’ ‘ She will 
never want one,’ said Mr. Clifford, ‘not in the way you 
mean.’ ‘ I trust not, I trust not,’ murmured Mrs. Kennedy. 
Then she held out her hand, and Adeline took it and pressed 
it warmly. Perhaps at that moment the recollection of all 
that Mrs. Kennedy had done for her came to her mind. She 
offered her hand also to Mr. Clifford, and he, after a little 
hesitation, accepted it ; and so they would have parted, but 
when Mi"s. Kennedy turned and walked away a few steps, 
Adeline ran after her and kissed her, with tears running 


Ties, human and divine. 


101 


down her face and then ran back to Mr. Clifford. Bitterly 
did Mrs. Kennedy reproach herself afterwards for her want 
of courage in not asking Adeline if she was married ; had 
the answer been what it should have been she would have 
left Adeline with a lighter heart. Had it been what it 
should not have been, she might have made some effort to 
save her, even at that late day. As it was she left her 
adopted daughter, beset with sad doubts. I think I see in 
your face, Millington, that you want to say something.” 

‘'I do,’’ I said. When Mr. Haldane told me that Mr. 
Clifford and Miss Ducroz lived together in New York, she 
bearing his name with his cognizance and consent, and 
making purchases in his name for which he paid, I told 
him it was as good as a marriage, though no ceremony was 
performed.” 

Is that the law ? ” 

''It is the law in the State of New York,” I replied. 

" Ah ; and what did Mr. Haldane reply ? ” 

" That Mr. Clifford had already heard some nonsense to 
that effect.” 

" Some nonsense to that effect,” repeated Mr. Barlow. 
" Denoting that he did not believe anything of the kind.” 

" That was what he intended to convey.” 

"We will prolong this interruption. Millington, I take 
it that you are satisfied that the account Mr. Haldane gave 
you of the first meeting between Mr. Clifford and Miss 
Ducroz on board the Circassia is false.” 

" Most certainly.” 

" It follows, then, that some other things he related to 
you are false.” 

"Yes, I should say so.” 

" He is a fool,” said Mr. Barlow, " and something worse 
than a fool. You asked me, when I commenced my story, 
whether I had succeeded in discovering Mr. Clifford. I 
answered that up to the hour of closing my office to-day I 
had not discovered him. I should give you a different 
answer now.” 

" Should you ? ” 

"Yes, and here is my reason. It is my deliberate 


102 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


opinion that Mr. Julius Clifford is no other than Mr. Hal 
dane himself.” 


CHAPTFR XIV. 

Mr. Barlow had put in plain words a suspicion which had 
crossed my mind. He was not a man who was wise after 
the event, and I did not question the conclusion at which 
he had so promptly arrived. 

We have to consider,” he continued, '' what induces a 
client to so stupidly deceive the agent he employs. The 
kind of a man who acts in this way is either a man of weak 
character or a man so eaten up with pride and conceit that 
he cannot admit, even to an utter stranger, that he has done 
anything of which he ought to feel ashamed. But pride 
Ivery often has a fall, and your man of weak character more 
often than not finds that he is in the wrong box, with the 
key turned upon him. The story Mr. Haldane related to 
you paints Adeline Ducroz black, and himself white ; pro- 
claims her an adventuress, and himself an honorable man. 
Now, my belief is that he and his friend Mr. Redwood are 
birds of a feather, with this difference — that Mr. Haldane 
jhas sown his wild oats, and Mr. Redwood is still sowing, 
lit is reaping time with Mr. Haldane. Somebody has 
threatened him ; he is frightened of the past ; there are 
skeletons, not in his cupboards, but standing at his door. 
So he calls you in, and while he is explaining what he wants 
done, lies to you, to prove, in case you suspect him, that he 
is a saint, and the woman he has wronged is a sinner. We 
will put him aside awhile, and go on with my version of 
the story. After this last meeting with Miss Ducroz in 
New York, Mrs. Kennedy went to her home in the West, 
where she remained for several years. And now there is 
introduced into the case evidence of a very significant 
nature, the first portion of which is in the form of letters 
written by Miss Ducroz to Mrs. Kennedy, These letters, 
with others not so clear, were preserved by Mrs. Kennedy, 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE 


103 


and are in my possession. As it happens I have them in 
my pocket, and can read them to you. They bear neither 
date nor address, but the stamps and postmarks on the en- 
velopes indicate the cities in which they were written. 
Here is the first : — 

My dear Mother, — I am writing to you without my 
husband’s knowledge ’ 

‘‘You will understand before I have finished,^’ said Mr. 
Barlow, breaking off and looking up from the faded letter 
he was reading, “ why, although she speaks here of Mr. 
Clifford as her husband, I have spoken of her all through 
as Miss Ducroz.” He then resumed : 

“‘Without my husband’s knowledge, and when we 
meet, which I hope we shall soon, please do not tell him 
that I ever wrote to you. Mr. Clifford is very kind to me, 
and very affectionate, but he is also very particular, and he 
would be angry with me if he found out that I did any- 
thing in opposition to his wishes. He is not always right, 
but that is no reason why I should say so to his face. On 
the day we met in Central Park he said, after you were 
gone, “ There is no occasion, my dear Adeline, for you to 
keep up a correspondence with Mrs. Kennedy. By and by, 
when we visit them, she will get to know me better, and 
will do me justice.” I did not promise not to write to you, 
so I am not exactly disobeying him, aud I do not want you 
to reply to my letters, for I shall write to you again if I 
have time. My husband need not know about it. It has 
weighed on my mind that I have been ungrateful for all 
you have done for me, and I ask you now to forgive me. 
I cannot say anything more than that I am very, very 
sorry. If the past were to come over again I might act 
differently, but this confession does not make me any bet- 
ter, and is a bad excuse for not doing what is right. My 
reliance is upon your good heart and your feelings for me. 
It is a relief for me to write to you, and I feel happier al- 
ready. My husband and I go out nearly every evening to 
theatres and other places of amusement, but during the 
day he leaves me alone sometimes to attend to his business 
affairs, and it is at these times, having nothing to do, that 


104 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I feel lonely and long for someone to speak to. How I 
wish you were living near us ! I hope you are happy and 
comfortable in your new home. With love to you and 
my dear father, I am, ever your affectionate daughter, 

‘‘ADELINE.^’ 

'' There is not much in this letter,” said Mr. Barlow, 
except that it shows a craving for sympathy, and a fear 
of Mr. Clifford. In one sense it was a great satisfaction 
to Mrs. Kennedy ; the writer spoKe of Mr. Clifford as her 
husband. The second letter, which I shall now read, was 
written some weeks after the first, judging from the post- 
mark on the envelope : 

^ My dear Mother, — I have news for you which you 
will be sorry to hear. We are going to Europe. It is 
quite sudden, and I only knew it yesterday. I have been 
looking forward so to coming and staying with you a little 
while, and now, at the last moment, I am disappointed. I 
told my husband how much I felt in leaving America with- 
out seeing you, and he says it cannot be helped. Our ves- 
sel starts to-morrow morning, and I have all my packing 
to do, so I have very little time for writing ; but I could 
not go without sending you a line. It is a good thing I 
have not to run about, saying good-bye to people ; we have 
made no friends since we have been here, and the only 
people I know are tradesmen. I shall write to you soon 
again — perhaps from the ship, perhaps from London. I 
think we are going there, but Mr. Clifford does not seem 
to have made up his mind where we shall live ; he talks of 
travelling ; if I had my wav, I should like to be settled 
first and to travel afterwards. Good-bye. God bless you 
both. Your afifectionate daughter, 

‘ ADELINE.’ 

There is not much in this letter, either,” observed Mr. 
Barlow, unless you read between the lines. She does not 
.speak of Mr. Clifford’s kindness and it proves that she has 
no friends. It proves, also, the complete ascendancy Mr. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


105 


Clifford has over her. His will is law. To a mild remon- 
strance against the sudden departure of which she is in- 
formed only at the last moment, and which is to tear her 
from the only true friends she has in the world, he simply 
replies that it cannot be helped. No other explanation, 
although his preparations for leaving the country must 
have taken him some time to make. He does not confide in 
her : he keeps her in comparative seclusion ; he issues com- 
mands which she has to obey. She has not the courage to 
resist ; therefore she fears him. The romance is fading, 
and she is being brought face to face with reality. Her 
next letter bears the London postmark : 

' My dear Mother, — We have been in London three 
weeks, and I would have written to you before if I had 
not been ill. We had a dreadful passage, and I was not 
able to go on deck for a single hour. I was in bed from 
the first day to the last, and I feared I should never rise 
from it. I sometimes think it would have been better for 
me if I had died at sea ; all my trouble would have been 
over. It is wicked to have such thoughts, I know, but I 
cannot help it. I have nothing in the way of news that I 
dare tell you ; it is only that I feel I must write to you. 
Mr. Clifford’s plans are not settled yet, and I believe we are 
to start for Paris to-morrow. I do hope you are happy 
and prosperous. I will write again if I live. Your loving 
daughter. ADELINE.’ 

The letter speaks for itself,” said Mr. Barlow. '' It is 
a confession of misery, and there seems to be no prospect 
of brighter days to come. She says she has no news that 
she dare tell — there is something significant in that. She 
does not speak of her ^ husband ’ now, but calls him Mr. 
Clifford, The last intelligible letter is written in Paris : 

'' ‘ How shall I write to you — what shall I say ? We 
are here in Paris ; they call it the gay city.” To me it is a 
city of darkness. I think I must be going mad. Bitterly 
am I punished for not listening to your advice — too bitter- 


106 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


ly, for surely my fault did not deserve a punishment so 
great. I am cut off from all the world, and the only 
being at whose feet I would kneel for pardon, if I had 
the courage, is far away. Were I able to come to you, I 
should not dare ; I should fly from you in terror and 
shame, and you would repulse me, as every good woman 
would if she knew the truth about me. Can you guess — 
can you guess ? You are not bad, like me ; your heart is 
pure ; you have not sinned. But is the sin all mine ? Am 
I alone responsible ? I wander in darkness ; I cannot 
pray. The present terrifies me, and I shudder at the future. 
And yet there are women who in my condition, would look 
forward with joy to the day when — Bu*- those women are 
not ashamed to look their sisters in the face ; they have the 
right to hold up their heads ; they are not disgraced as I 
am. Can you guess now ? I would seek death if I dared, 
but I am too great a coward. My only solace is forgetful- 
ness, oblivion, and I seek it shamefully. Disgrace upon 
disgrace. I am glad you cannot write to me, that you do 
not know where to find me. But do not quite forget me. 
Think of me, not as I am, but as I might have been if I had 
been grateful for all your goodness to me, if I had shown 
you obedience. — Your unhappy ADELINE.” 

“ So far,” said Mr. Barlow, “ these four letters tell a plain 
storj^, and upon the receipt of the last, Mi*s. Kennedy, stirred 
by indignation and compassion, came to Europe in search of 
Adeline. Her husband would have come in her place, but 
to leave the new home he was establishing would have been 
utter ruin to his prospects, so he yielded to his wife’s 
solicitations, and allowed her to undertake a duty which 
they both recognised and acknowledged. She had very 
little money to proscute her inquiries, and as might have 
been expected in consequence of that, and with clues so 
slight to guide her, she was quite unsuccessful. Not the 
slightest trace of Adeline could she find, and she was com- " 
pelled to return to America no wiser than when she came. 
Meanwhile ” — Mr. Barlow paused as we heard the street 
door open and shut — Meanwhile,” he continued, ‘‘ here is 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


107 


George come home, hungry for supper, and I feel peckish 
myself. Pop in at the office to-morrow afternoon at four 
o’clock, and you will hear some still more startling develop- 
ments. Well, George” — as my lad entered the room — 
'' what sort of a night is it ? ” 

George answered that it was a fine night, and then our 
little maid appeared and set supper for us, which we enjoy- 
ed thoroughly, not a word being spoken about the business 
which had brought us together. 13ut as I walked with Mr. 
Barlow down the street to catch a ’bus, he said : 

'' You have spoken of a daughter of Mr. Haldane’s as if 
you liked her ? ” 

''No one could help liking her,” I said. " She is a lump 
of sweetness and goodness.” 

" That sounds well. Young ? ” 

" About eighteen, I should say.” ' 

" About eighteen,” said Mr. Barlow, and appeared to be 
reckoning up something in his mind. " By the way, are 
there any more children ? ” 

"Not that I am aware of. I should say decidedly not, 
or we should have heard of them through George’s sweet- 
heart.” 

" Only one child, then, a young lady about eighteen 
years of age. That opens up a new road.” 

" What is in your mind, Barlow ? ” 

" Something that may be in yours when you hear the 
whole of the story. Mr. Haldane a widower ? ” 

" I never inquired.” 

"No signs of a wife at the Hall ? ” 

" None.” 

" Nor talk of the young lady’s mother ? ” 

"None.” 

'* Here’s my ’bus. Good night. Don’t be late to-morrow, 
Millington. Four o’clock — a little earlier if you like.” 


108 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


CHAPTEK XV. 

So KEEN was my interest in the unfinished story he 
had related, and so eager was I to hear the conclusion, that 
I presented myself at the old office in Surrey street at half- 
past three. 

I fancied you would be early,’' said Mr. Barlow. 

Looks like old times having you here again. The busi- 
ness of the office is over for the day, and we shall not be 
disturbed. Before I go on with my story I have to give 
you a piece of information and to make a confession. The 
information is that I have thrown up the commission, so 
far as Mr. Louis Redwood is concerned. I wrote a letter to 
him this morning, enclosing the twenty pounds he left with 
me, and saying that I could not attend to his business. He 
will be wild at my refusal, and, as a gentleman who thinks 
no small beer of himself, will send me an impudent letter 
in reply. I’ll put up with that.” 

I’m glad you’ve thrown him over,” I said. It isn’t 
only that it wouldn’t be exactly the correct thing to work 
one client against another, in a manner of speaking, but 
Mr. Redwood is an infernal scoundrel, and I’d rather hinder 
than help him in any of his schemes.’' 

He’ll have no difficulty in getting somebody else to 
take up the affair,” said Mr. Barlow, ‘‘ but we hold what 
threads there are, and it will be a hard job to work with- 
out them. My confession is soon made. I have spoken of 
client number one, for whom I am really working as a 
gentleman. I oughtn’t to have misled you ; client number 
one is a lady.” 

I nodded. It did not seem to me to be important, and 
it was a mistake in a personal pronoun any one might have 
made. During a short silence that ensued Mr. Barlow 
occupied himself in arranging a number of papers which 
he intended to read or refer to. They were torn scraps, 
some of them, many written upon pieces of paper picked 
up apparently at hap-hazard, and pen and pencil appeared 


TIES, HUMAX AND DIVINE. 


109 


to have been indiscriminately used. Among them were 
several sheets of letter and note paper, soiled and creased ; 
part of the writing was large, part very small and fine ; 
and the whole collection was evidently the work of a per- 
son or persons who did not have proper writing material 
always at command. The various pieces and sheets of paper 
were numbered in red ink, and this sign of order, I judged, 
was the work of Mr. Barlow. 

‘‘ I saw client number one this morning,” he said, '' and 
told her that I was disclosing the particulars of the story 
to a friend who might be useful to me in the inquiry. Her 
answer was that I could do exactly as I pleased, and that 
I could manage the affair in any way that suggested itself 
to me. All that she asks at present is that I shall track 
Mr. Clifford, if he is alive, and let her know where he is 
to be found. There is something of perhaps more impor- 
tance than the discovery of Mr. Clife>rd Iianging to the 
matter, and both my client and I are thinking of it, though 
we have not spoken plainly about it. We shall presently, 
I dare say, but to find Mr. Clifford is the first step. Now, 
Millington, I put it to you straight. Shall we continue to 
act as partners in this job, or shall we work independently 
of each other ? ” 

Continue to act together,” I replied. 

I can't see anything wrong in the partnership,” said 
Mr. Barlow, thoughtfully. "'Since we parted last night I 
have been seriously considering it, and looking at it from 
all sides. You have already learned something from me 
that may assist you, and you will presently learn a great 
deal more ; and I, as I believe, have already learned some- 
thing from you that may assist me. The difference is this : 
that what you have gained has been gained directly, from 
what I have told you ; and that what I have gained has 
been gained indirectly, from what you have told me. My 
version of the story is the true one; yours the false. You 
will be able to go to Mr. Haldane, if you care to do so — 
for the option, I take it, will be yours — and say, "I can 
now tell you something of the history of Adeline Ducroz 
after the separation in Paris between her and Mr. Julius 


110 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Clifford.’ I may be able to go to my client and inform 
her where Mr. Clifford is to be found. Each of us, then, 
will have executed his commission, and what consequences 
may follow, and what further commissions may be 
offered to us, are not, at present, matters for our considera- 
tion. This being understood, I will go on from where I 
left off last night. 

'' After her unsuccessful search for Adeline in London 
and Paris Mrs. Kennedy returned to America. During her 
absence some communications from the unfortunateyoung 
woman had been received by Mr, Kennedy, and after her 
return other communications reached them from time to 
time. These communications cannot be described as letters, 
for, except upon the envelopes, they are not ad- 
dressed by name, nor do they bear any signature ; but they 
are indubitably in Adeline’s handwriting, although the 
character of that writing is strangely altered. It is a won- 
der how some of these communications reached their des- 
tination, so imperfectly were they addressed, and there is 
more than a reasonable likelihood that some must have 
miscarried. The papers you see on the table here are the 
communications of which I am speaking ; they were hand- 
ed to me by my client, and it has taken a great deal of la- 
bor to arrange and decipher them. In places they were al- 
most illegible, and, where I could, I have written in the 
words which were most likely used, or intended to be 
used. The chronological arrangement was difficult, but I 
think I have managed it fairly well. With this explana- 
tion I will make a start. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

/ ' The doctor has been here. He tells me I have been 
very ill, and that I must take care of myself. I know I 
have been ill, but what is the use of taking care of myself ? 
I ask this question of the doctor. He says it is a duty. 
Duty ! ” I cry. To whom ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Ill 


a < rp^ yourself/’ he answers. To others.” 

'' ' I keep on repeating these words in my mind, over 
and over again. It is a duty,” I say '' to myself, to others.” 
The doctor, all the time, standing and looking down upon 
me. 

“ But I do not care for myself,” I say presently. 

‘ Then do not consider yourself,” he answers ; con- 
sider others.” 

'' ‘ I repeat the last two words over and over again in ^ 
my mind. Consider others — consider others — consider 
others.” 

'' " ''Who are the others, doctor ? ” I ask. 

" ' "First, the living,” he answers, speaking very slowly. 
He speaks so in compliance with my request ; when people 
speak quickly to me now I cannot understand them, I get 
confused. Even as it is, I often have to repeat what they 
say, to make sure. 

" ' " First, the living,” I say. " Give the living a name.’ 

" ' " He has one,” says the doctor. " Your friend.” 

" ' " Have I a friend,” I ask, " here in this black land ? ” 

" You have,” he answers. " Clear your mind of dis- 
ordered fancies. The land is not black ; it is the brightest 
in the world. You are a lady of good education and 
natural intelligence, give your abilities fair play.” 

" ' " Never mind the land,” I say, " never mind my 
education and intelligence. Name my living friend.” 

" ' " Mr. Clifford,” he says. " Surely you do not forget ! ” 

" ' " O, Mr. Clifford,” I say, " No, I do not forget. How 
can I forget, doctor, with such abilities and intelligence as 
mine ? ” 

" ' " That is much better,” says the doctor. " Keep it 
always before you that you have intelligence and abilities, 
and that you mean to exercise • them — they are the gifts 
of God, remember — and then you will not forget.” 

" I will try as hard as I can, doctor,” I say, " not to 
forget.” 

" Now I have hopes of you,” he says, " and shall leave 
you till the evening.” 

' But I call to him not to go yet ; that there is some- 


112 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


thing forgotten. He puts down his hat and stick, and 
inquires what it is. 

'' ‘ You spoke of a duty to others,^' I say. 

ff < « Yes,’' he answers. 

“ ^ And then you said, ‘ First the living,’ and you gave 
him a name.” 

a « Perfectly correct,” he says. Your mind is getting 
clearer.” 

That is not all,” I say, '' Mr. Clifford is only one, 
and you spoke of others. Who follows the living 
Clifford?” 

'' ' He hesitates a moment before he speaks. 

You will soon hold to your breast a gift from God.” 

^ I control the anguish that is about to overpower me ; 
I can be strong even now sometimes with a strength born 
of black bitterness. 

Another of God’s gifts ! ” I cry. " I am truly blest 
How grateful I ought to be ! ” 

« c « You are truly blessed,” he says, with gentle voice and 
mocking eyes ; I can fathom hidden meanings. “ You will 
be grateful ? ” 

' I turn from him ; I cannot bear to look at his face, 
seemingly so kind. He is at the door. 

‘ Come back ! ” I cry. 

'' ‘ He comes at once, and says, '' Well ? ” 

«c«You said just now I was a lady. Why do you 
mock me ? ” 

I do not mock you,” he says. "" Heaven forbid I 
should mock you ! ” 

Do not speak so much of heaven and gifts of God,” 
I say. You know I am not a lady. You know I am a 
shameless woman ? ” 

^ He sits by my side ; he takes my hand ; he preaches 
a sermon upon the ways of life ; he makes light of sin ; he 
says these things are common, and that I must not take it 
so much to heart. I tear my hand from him. 

« ( ^ ^ ^ Leave me before I do you a mischief!” 

He is gone and I am alone. I will not think of what 
he says— I will not, I will not, I will not ! All that I will 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


113 


endeavor to do is to forget. I know what will deaden my 
senses, what will help me to forget.' .... 

'' " There was a conversation in my room ; they thought 
I was asleep. I lay still, deceiving them ; they spoke in 
low tones, but I heard every word. 

'"'"‘Is she any better?" It was Clifford who spoke. 

" ' She is no better, and no worse." The doctor was 
speaking. She loses control of herself." 

Will she die?" 

It is impossible to say. Life and death are more in 
her hands than mine." 

a f usual cant is that life and death are in God's 
hands." 

“ ' I do not employ the usual cant. I am guided by 
material facts, by common sense." 

‘ They spoke in French ; thanks to my education I 
understand the language, and German as well. Would it 
have been better for me if I had been a gutter child ? I 
am a gutter woman ; I have made myself one. Who can 
say mine has been an idle life ? 

" ' If she dies there will be an inquest ? " Clifford 
again. 

'' ^ It cannot be avoided." 

“ And I shall have to give evidence ? " 

'"'"'You will be questioned." 

My name will be dragged in ? " 

' The doctor does not answer. My eyes are closed, 
but I can see him shrug his shoulders. Clifford's name 
will be dragged in — his name, that he is always prating 
about ! His name— his honor ! I will not be disgraced ! 
You shall not disgrace me!" How many times has he 
said that to me ? I shall not disgrace him 1 Has he not 
disgraced me ? But what does that matter ? I am only a 
woman. He is a gentleman. He has said it to me a hun- 
dred times. I am a gentleman ; remember that ! " Yes, 
he is a gentleman. He has behaved to me like one. And 
if I die, and he is questioned, as the doctor warns him he 
will be, some doubt may be thrown upon the title he claim s. 


114 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


That is his fear. He thinks ever of himself, never of me. 
How long ago is it, when I was living in the happy hoim 
with which I was not contented, that a young girl in on 
neighborhood was as I am now ? She came back with he| 
load of shame. She was spurned — flouted at ; in the end 
she disappeared, no one knew where. And the gentleman 
who had dragged her down walked about with a smilina 
face. No one reproached him, no one. He was receivid 
in society ; mothers allowed him to associate with theil 
daughters ; he spoke at public meetings ; he was honored^ 
respected. And she ! poor Mary Sternhold — where was 
that lost spirit wandering ? What was her end ? What 
will be mine ? 

' The conversation between Clifford and the doctor 
went on. 

“ ‘ Said the doctor, “ You wish her to live ? 

“ " Of course I wish her to live,” said Clifford. “ Do 
you think I have no heart ? ” 

“ ‘ That was a plain question. The doctor did not answer 
it. Why did not Clifford ask me ? 

‘ Do everything in your power,” said Clifford. She 
takes too gloomy a view of her situation. I will see that 
she is comfortably provided for. She would be happy if 
it was not for her vile temper.” 

“ ' She is young enough for happiness,” said the doctor. 

If all girls were like her,” said Clifford, ‘‘it would 
be unbearable. You know what life is.” 

“ ‘ “ Yes,” said the doctor, “ I know.” 

“ ‘ His voice was quite callous, and yet his nature is not 
unkind. It was man of the world speaking to man of the 
world. Could they have put their experiences side by 
side, and compared them agreeably ? I dare say. Since I 
left my home I have learned much. Bitter knowledge — 
bitter experience ! My punishment is just ; but should 
not the man be punished as well as the woman ? 

“ ‘“ You can do something,” said the doctor, “towards 
helping her to a healthier frame of mind. Treat her with 
great gentleness; humor her; sympathize with her; win 
her back to cheerfulness. Are her parents living ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


115 


‘ “ She is an orphan.’' 

^ True. The good souls who call me their daughter 
are not my parents. They adopted me as their child, and 
reared and educated me, not out of charity, but out of pure 
goodness of heart. How have I repaid them ? 

'"'"'Has she only you to depend upon?” asked the 
doctor. 

I suppose so,” replied Clifford, fretfully. 

'' ' It hurt him to acknowledge it. 

Follow my advice,” said the doctor, ''and all will be 
well. They suffer more or less when the parting comes, if 
the separation is not of their own seeking. Which some- 
times happens.” 

"'"I wish it would happen with her,” said Clifford; 
" but she has no independence of spirit. If I were a woman 
I would not be tied to a man who wanted to get rid of 
me i 

" ' There he spoke his mind, thinking I did not hear. 
He had not said it so plainly to my face, but I knew it all 
the time. • 

"'"As she does not choose to leave you of her own 
accord,” said the doctor, " you have a certain responsi- 
bility.” 

" I cannot do more than offer to provide for her,” said 
Clifford, and his voice got savage. " If she knows what’s 
good for her she will consent to what I propose. What 
more can a woman want ? ” 

What more ? Love, faithfulness, truth, honor. Clif- 
ford looks upon woman as a piece of merchandise, to be 
bought and sold. I know now sufficient of the world to 
know that this traffic is pursued in the open market, but 
then both buyer and seller bargain with their eyes open. 
Does Clifford dare to think that I belong to the shameless 
crowd ? If he does, why did he swear to me that I 
should be his wife ; why did he make me believe that I 
was his wife ? And now, now, he tells me that he lied to 
me, that he deliberately deceived me ! What does such a 
man deserve ? 

" ' The doctor went away ; Clifford and I vrere left 


116 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


alone. He came to my bedside ; I did not open my eyes, 
but I saw him gazing at me. The silence was terrible ; I 
could not bear it. 

Who is there ?” I murmured, pretending that I had 
just awoke. 

' '' It is I, Clifford,'* he answered. 

Have you been here long ? ” I asked. 

I have this moment come in," he said. 

Even in such a simple matter as this he could not 
speak the truth. He inquired if I was any better, and I 
said yes, lying to him as he lied to me. 

Shall we talk sensibly together ? ^ 

Say what you please," I answered. 

I must leave Paris,” he said. ‘‘ Important business 
calls me away.” 

' “Very well, Clifford. I will go with you.'^ 

You are not strong enough." 

“ ‘ “ I am quite strong enough. Do we leave to-morrow ? " 

You cannot accompany me. I will arrange so that 
you shall be comfortable. There, there ! Don't make things 
worse than they are." 

“ Do you think they can be worse ? " 

Are you going to be unreasonable again ? ^ 

' '' I have never been unreasonable. I am a human 
being like yourself. You vowed and swore to me " 

“ ' He interrupted me with, '' No more of your whining. 
I'm sick of it. You will drive me away in anger. What 
will you do then ? ” 

‘ “ What will I do then ?” I cried. “ Publish your 
treachery to the world ! Make your name, that you're so 
proud of, a bye- word ! Drag you down to the level to which 
you've dragged me !" 

^c^You will?” he exclaimed, with white face and set 
teeth. 

““a will!" 

He dashed out of the room, leaving me alone with 
my despair. It is at these times that I seek oblivion. 
Solitude is awful to me, and he knows it. I crept out of 
bed, and sought my solace. I drank glass after glass. I 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


117 


laughed, I sang, I tried to dance, and then I fell to the 
ground and forgot everything 

' If ever you receive this, you whom I called mother 
once, but dare not call so now, pity and forgive me. You 
will shudder at my words, but I have imposed it on myself 
as a penance to write what comes to me to write, though it 
shows the blackness of my soul. And I shall find a way to 
send it to you, however strict is the watch they set upon me. 
I shall disguise nothing that I can remember ; I shall write 
nothing that I believe is false ; I shall not seek to excuse 
myself, nor to make the degradation into which I have fallen 
less than it is. This is the punishment I shall inflict upon 
myself. 

'' ' I think I should have been a better woman if I had 
not been so deceived, but it is only a thought, and perhaps 
I am deluding myself. I could never have been as you 
are ; your soul is white, mine is not ; but I should never 
have been what I am now, what I have been driven to by 
Clifford. I have seen good women with children about 
them, women who have never been led into sin with honeyed 
words by smiling men, and I might have been worthy to 
walk by their side had I not met with Clifford. 

" I have not told you before ; I will tell you now. 

Long before we started for America he wanted me to 
leave you, but I refused, though I loved him with all my 
soul. Why do you refuse,” he asked, “if you love me as 
you say you do ? ” “ It is right,” I replied, “ that I should 

be married from my mother s house.” “ I do not like your 
people,” he said, “and they do not like me. What can it 
matter where we are married ? ” I gave in so far, and 
asked when we should be married. “ Bye and bye,'’ he 
answered. “But when?” I urged. “Bye and bye,” he 
answered again. “ Leave all to me. Make your prepara- 
tions, and we will go away and be happy to-morrow night. 
Say nothing at home.” I did not yield, though he pressed 
me hard, and swore he would deal honorably by me. The 
influence of your good teaching was upon me then, and 
guided me aright. The strength of that influence was 
proved by my love for Clifford and by what I suffered in 


118 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


refusing^ him. Then he came to London and sought and 
found me there. And still he pressed me to fly with him, 
and still I refused. When you told me that we were to go 
to America I was overwhelmed with despair at the thought 
of losing him, and I said I would not go with you. On that 
night I met him by appointment and informed him of your 
plans. He commended me for my spirit, and proposed that 
' I should go with him at once, and not return home ; but 
when I spoke again of marriage his only reply was that I 
must trust him entirely, and that he would be true and 
faithful to me. I will wait for you in London, and when 
you are ready to marry me I will be yours.'' He protested 
that I had no confidence in him, and that he would be 
satisfied with nothing less than my immediate consent to 
his proposal. “ You must choose," he said, “ between me 
and your people. If you go from me to-night I will never 
see you again." I did choose, though my heart was almost 
broken, loving him as I did. I returned home, and told you 
I would come with you to America, You will remember all 
this. 

‘ I am interrupted, and must wait till I am alone to 
continue ; but I will manage to put what I have written 
into the post, so that you may know, if you never hear from 
me again, that I did not fall without a struggle.' 


CHAPTER XVII. 

'' ' I KNOW where I left off. There are times when my 
memory is quite gone, when reason deserts me, when I live 
only in a world of phantoms. The images that haunt me 
are not always horrible ; God is merciful, and sends me 
dreams which banish the horrors of the living day. I am 
grateful for them, though the awakening is terrible. It is 
when I am sensible and thinking of you that my memory 
returns. So now I know, being alone, with no one watch- 
ing me, that I left off where I chose between Clifford and 
you. 

“ ‘ I never expected to see him again, and I thought 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


119 ^ 


that no hope of happiness remained to me. When I saw 
him on the steamer, on the day we left England for Ameri- 
ca, I was dizzy with wonder and joy, and when I heard 
from his own lips that he felt it would be worse than death 
to part with me, and that that was the reason of his join- 
ing the ship, the world was a brighter, happier world than 
it had been since the night I tore myself away from him 
in London. 

“ ' ‘‘ Do you need further proof of my devotion ? ” he 
asked ; and I answered, No/’ 

‘‘ ‘From that moment I was his slave. Everything I 
told you about him and myself was spoken at liis dicta- 
tion. He had no business to transact in America ; he was 
going because I was going, and we were to ];et married there. 
So I lied to you, at his bidding, he promising ^hat when he 
had conquered the resentment he felt against you we 
should all be friends once more. I looked forward to that 
time. The deceit I was practising did not shock me then 
as it shocks me now ; it seemed a small price to pay for the 
proof of love he had given me. I believed in him as you 
believe in God, and thought he could do no wrong. So we 
landed in New York, and I left you without saying good- 
bye. We did not meet again till we saw you in Central 
Park. 

“ ‘ On the day after our arrival Clifford took me to a 
private office, and there some words were spoken by a 
man I never saw again, and Clifford and I signed a paper 
which he put in his pocket. Before that he had placed a ring 
on my finger, and when we were in the street, he told me 
we were married by civil process, and that there was no 
country in the world in which these things were so easily 
and quickly done as in America. He spoke to me then 
about his private position in England ; it was the first time 
he had done so, and I believed every word he said, though, 
I did not rightly understand what it was all about. Our| 
marriage must be kept secret for a time, he said, or his' 
prospects would be ruined. He was dependent upon a 
relative, an old lady over eighty years of age, who could, 
not possibly live more than a year or two, and who had made. 


120 


TIES, HUMAlsr and DIVINE. 


him promise that he would not marry during her lifetime. 
When she died he would be her heir, and there would be 
no longer any occasion to keep the secret of our marriage. 
I was very happy at that time ; Clifford was behaving most 
kindly to me, and as I went by his name no shadow of 
doubt crossed my mind that he was deceiving me. He 
warned me to say nothing whatever of our marriage to 
you in case we met. I will tell her when we are friends,” 
he said, but she must promise me first to keep our secret 
faithfully till my good old aunt is gone.” That is why I 
said nothing to you in Central Park, and why, if you had 
asked me direct questions, I could not have answered them, 
for my husband claimed obedience from me, and it was my 
duty to obey. I wrote to you without his knowledge, and 
I was careful that he should not discover it ; had he done 
so, and forbade my writing, I could not have acted in 
opposition to his wishes. 

‘ When was it that I seemed to see clouds gathering 
around me ? Before we left New York for England, certainly 
— yes, certainly before that time. The first two or three 
weeks he was constantly with me ; he never went out 
without me, and he was always studying how we should 
pass the days agreeably. Do you like this — would you 
like that? Shall we go here to-night, or is there any 
other j)lace you would like me to take you V' Then came 
a gradual change ; he left me in my room in the hotel for 
hours together of a night, and when I ventured to com- 
plain a little he told me not to be too exacting. My 
temper is not a patient one ; you know that, and perhaps 
I was unwise in showing him this too soon ; but I could 
not control myself. Clifford only laughed ab me. 

« < « We are none of us perfect,” he said. I am begin- 
ning to find you out, Adeline ; presently you will begin to 
find me out.” 

' It was not till some time afterwards that, in thinking 
of these words, I knew they must have been spoken with 
meaning, and that Clifford was not sorry to discover that 
I was not an angel, because it furnished him with an excuse 
for his own wickedness. When he ordered me to pack my 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


121 


trunks suddenly for England we had a scene ; I was hot, 
he was cool. 

‘ If you don't care to come," he said, I will go 
alone." 

“ ‘ A chill struck my heart as he said this ; and on that 
evening I began to think of the future with fear. 

« < Will you come, or stay ? " he asked. 

You insult me by asking such a question," I 
answered. '' My place is by your side." 

'' ‘ He looked at me quietly for a minute or two, but said 
nothing more, nor did I. On the following day we started 
for England. I was very ill during the voyage, but he 
paid me little attention. He seemed to take no pleasure 
in my society, and his manner towards me was entirely 
changed. It was the same in London, and I was frightened 
to complain, for fear of angering him. I had no one but 
him, not a friend to whom I could speak, whose advice I 
could ask. Sometimes, when I forced myself to be bright, 
and took pains with my dress and appearance to. please 
him, he behaved better to me ; but I could not always play 
the hypocrite. Besides, I was weak and ill, and utterly, 
utterly wretched 

^ It was here, in Paris, that I heard of my disgrace ; it 
was here, in this hateful city, reeking with vice and shame, 
that I learned what I had become. I must hide nothing 
from you ; I stab myself by showing you how vile and 
abandoned I am. Before the blow fell I began to drink, 
and I do not seek to excuse myself by saying it was Clifford 
who led me on. But it was he who placed temptation in 
my way, who drank with me, who first said : 

^ “ Drink, and forget." 

‘ It does not affect him, but it drags me down, down ! I 
loathe it and love it. “ Here am I, at your hand," it 
whispers, for it is always there ; he does not seek to deprive 
me of my solace, I will say that of him ; here I am, at 
your hand. Drink, and be happy." Be happy ! What a 
mockery ! But I cannot resist it. Even now my eyes are 


122 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


wandering towards it, even now my trembling hands are 
stretched towards it ; but I resist, because I am writing to 
you, because, before I am utterly lost, you shall know the 
full extent of my degradation. 

‘"'We had a quarrel. Whose fault it was I cannot say 
— his, mine ; we each had an equal share in the scenes that 
were growing common. He had left me alone for two long 
days and nights. On the second night I went to seek him. 
Where ? I knew not. I did not know the name of a place 
he frequented ; Clifford can be very close about his affairs. 
The streets were open to me ; I went into them, and wan- 
dered hither and thither, looking into the faces of men 
whose figure resembled Clifford’s. Some looked back into 
my face, and laughed ; some followed me till I quickened 
my steps and left them behind. I was familiar with the 
neighborhood but not with the names of the streets I 
walked through ; I am a greater stranger here in Paris than 
I was in London. There is not a man or a woman whose 
hand I have the right to clasp in friendship. The city 
was in a glare ; the lights of shame were flaming all around 
me. I trod the principal thoroughfares ; it was no use to 
look for Clifford in narrow streets ; he is fond of gaiety, 
laughter, quick life. I hate your dull, moping faces,” he 
has said to me ; give me light and animation.” I sought 
him where he was most likely to be found, and sought him 
in vain. So hurriedly had I left our apartment — having 
only one object in view — that it was not till I was in 
the open that I saw I had forgotten my gloves. It 
mattered little ; I could keep my hands beneath my 
mantle. I continued my search till midnight, when 
the people were coming from the theatres. I must 
have been delirious from fatigue and despair, else 
I should not have darted forw^ard and placed my hand on a 
man’s arm, thinking it w^-as Clifford. The man was a 
stranger to me, and a thief ; he seized my hand, and in a 
moment the rings were torn from my Angers, and I was 
flying in terror from him, dreading further violence. I 
did not stop till my breath was spent, and then I found 
myself in a part of the city which was not familiar to me. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


123 


The street in which I paused to recover my breath was 
almost deserted. I did not care to accost anyone to inquire 
my way, and I wandered about till I heard the bells strike 
the hour of two. I looked around and recognized the 
locality, and shortly afterwards I reached our apartment. 
The man who opened the gate looked strangely at me as I 
passed through, but I did not linger to explain to him the 
cause of my late arrival. I ran upstairs in the hope of 
seeing Cli&)rd, but the rooms were empty. Then I looked 
at my bruised fingers, and to my horror discovered that 
all the rings Clifford had given me were gone, even my 
wedding ring. It was the loss of this ring which cut me 
to the heart ; I did not value the others, although they had 
been Clifford’s gifts to me in happier times. Dressed as I 
was I threw myself on a couch and fell asleep. 

'' ' When I awoke it was broad daylight, and Clifford 
was sitting in the room. 

'' ' Awake at last,” he said, and his voice was not 
unkind ; in was indulgent, even cordial. '' You sleep well, 
Adeline.’’ 

'' ' I approached him, and asked him where he had been 
these last two days and nights. 

(( ( are free agents, you and I,” he said, with a 
wicked smile. “ I might retaliate by asking where you 
have been, and why I find you in this state at such an 
hour.” 

‘ I passed my hand across my eyes ; the full reflection 
of what I had passed through had not come to me. I 
looked down at my dress ; it was torn and disordered ; 
then I remembered all, and I related what had occurred, 
sobbing bitterly, as I spoke of the theft of my wedding 
ring. 

'' " It is an ingenious story,” said Clifford, '' and well 
told. If I were a younger man I might believe it.” 

“ ‘ '' You do not believe it ? ” I exclaimed, indignantly. 

“ ' I am not exactly a fool,” he said. 

'' " Dumb with passion and anguish I sank into a chair. 

“ ' I have something to say to you,” he continued, '' of 
an interesting nature. If you are going to make a sceno 


124 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I shall bid you good day, and you may never hear it. Be 
cool, as I am, and we may come to an understanding.'* 

^ Yes, he was cool, while every nerve in my body was 
quivering. 

‘ Shall I speak ? ” he asked. 

a c cc Yes, speak," I replied. 

‘ Observe first," he said, that I have heard your 
story, and make no comment upon it." 

“ Except," I said, keeping my passion down, '' that 
you do not believe it." 

“ Therefore," he continued, “ I do not question you 
about it. You are agitated, naturally, at your failure to 
impose upon me, but I recognize your right to act as you 
please, and will not trouble you to invent another version 
of your doings last night which might have a better suc- 
cess." 

.< f « You are inflicting a foul wrong upon me," I said, 
and when you speak of my right to act as I please, you 
are speaking of what does not exist. I have no such 
right." 

a « You have the right," he said. ‘‘ 1 repeat it, and 
before I have done I may convince you of the fact. You 
leave these rooms at nine o'clock last night ; you return at 
three this morning. Do I complain ? Not at all ; and yet 
you are angry because I do not scold you." 

‘ I have told you why I went out," I said, and how 
it was I kept out so long." 

a « a J j heard what you said," was his reply, 
“ and place my own interpretation upon it. An unreason- 
able man would find fault with you, and I do not utter one 
word of reproach. You feel lonely; you go out to seek 
amusement." 

'' ' I interrupted him. Take care. You may go too 
far." 

'' ' As the subject is displeasing to you," he said, I 
will drop it. If it is revived you will be the responsible 
party. There is really a kind of poetical justice in the 
circumstance of vour losing what you call your wedding- 
ring." 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


125 


« ' What I call my wedding-ring 1 ’’ 

''^‘‘That is what I said. There are plenty of wedding 
rings on the fingers of women who have no legitimate 
right to wear them. Why do you stare at me ? The truth 
must be told some time, and there is no time like the 
present. It is an awkward confession to make, but the 
honest truth is — ’’ 

' He paused, seeing, I think, that I was on the point of 
swooning. Uncorking a bottle of champagne he poured 
out a tumbler ful, and held it towards me. I took it from 
his treacherous hand, and drank it feverishly. It brought 
strength back to me. 

‘ “ Let me hear,’’ I said, what the honest truth is.” 

« < « honest truth, Adeline, is that you are not my 
wife.” 

‘‘ ^ How I managed to preserve my senses at this infam- 
ous revelation is a mystery, but some inward force sus- 
tained me. He continued : 

« < Now, you know. There was no other way for it, 
Adeline. I was madly infatuated, and you insisted upon 
being married ; so, to please you, we went through a mean- 
ingless ceremony. We have got along badly lately, and 
have found that we are not suited to each other. Let us 
make the best of a bad bargain.; let us part friends. I 
will see that you are provided for. No man could speak 
fairer. What do you say to my proposal ? ” 

" ^ I stood before him, with my hand on the table, steady- 
ing myself, and commanding my voice, still inwardly 
sustained. 

« ^ This,” I replied. Whether you have practiced 
upon me an infamous deception or not, I am your wife in 
the eyes of God. To the last day of my wretched life I 
will stand by my right. Judge by my calmness in this, 
the most terrible moment in my life, whether I shall adhere 
to my resolve. I have lost your love — I knew that long 
ago — but I will not let you go. I will follow you and 
pursue you ; if you desert me now I will find a means tc 
expose you and hold you up to the scorn and contempt ol 
the world ; your name shall be a bve-word of shame, aye. 


126 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


of shame as great and deep as mine. Only by my death 
shall you be released from the vows you swore to me, 
God shall punish you, and I commit vengeance into His 
hands. I am an erring, weak, and sinful woman, but 
you shall not be permitted to evade the double duty by 
which you are bound — your duty to me whom you confess 
to have shamefully betrayed, and your duty to your unborn 
child. Through me, and through your child, retribution 
shall fall upon you.” 

'' ‘ What more I said I cannot recall. My strength gave 
way, and I became unconscious 

****** 

“ ‘ How many days, or weeks have passed since I last 
wrote ? I cannot say. Time is blotted out. A woman is 
attending to me. 

“ ‘ “ Who are you ? ” I ask. You are a stranger to 

me. 

Be composed,” she answers. I am your nurse.” 

“ ‘ “ Who sent you here ? ’’ 

‘ “ Your friend.” 
f Friend ! I have none.” 

u f « You have. Do not agitate yourself. It is bad for 
you.” 

“ ‘ I must know who the person you call my friend is.” 

“ ^ “ Be calm. It is an English gentleman.” 

‘ ‘ ‘‘ Is his name Cliflford ? ” 

“ ^ That is the name. Ask no more questions.” 

I not be silent. You shall answer me. What 
are your instructions ? To kill me ? ” 

“ ' ‘‘ Mon Dieu ! No. To take care of you. To give 
you everything you want. To be good to you. It is not 
every woman in your position who has such a friend. You 
are very fortunate.” 

« < « j 2 Where is he — my husband ? ” 

« < u Your husband ? ” 

« * My husband. Do you hear me ? You are looking 
for my wedding ring. It was stolen from me. Where is 


TIES, HUMAN ANP DIVINE. 


127 


" I do not know/' 

« f jQYi paid to give me that answer ? Am I in 
Paris ? " 

« < « You are/' 

« < u ^ - hateful city ! ’’ 

« f ff You are raving. It is the brightest, the most 
beautiful on the face of the earth.” 

a f Yes, you are a Frenchwoman. Thank God, I am 
not. Have you been long with me ? " 

a f « Three A/eeks/' 

‘ And I have lain here unconscious all the time. Has 
he not been here once to see me ? ” 

I do not know/' 

ff Yon are a poor creature to answer in that way. 
You must know if you have been with me. But you are 
paid, you are paid.’' 

“ ' “ Attend to me, madam/' says the woman roughly. 
‘‘ If you are civil I will be civil, and it will be for your 
good. If you are not it will be bad for you. I will give 
you a lesson.” 

' She holds me down with one arm and hand ; her 
muscles are like steel ; I cannot raise myself an inch. I 
make but one effort ; then I submit, and seeing that I am 
lying still she removes her hand, saying. 

Some questions I will answer, some I will not. It is 
for you to make me a friend or an enemy/' 

You shall be my friend.” 

‘ It is goodc Say what I can do for you." 

f « There is a little desk somewhere.” 

« f « Your desk. Yes, it is here.” 

Bring it to me.” 

“ ' She brings it to the bed, and assists me to rise, 
putting pillows at my back. Then she brings me my 
clothes, and, although I am very weak, I find the key of the 
desk in a pocket, and open it, the woman watching me. A 
purse is in the desk, with money in it. 

‘ HotiT much will a wedding ring cost ?'' I ask, 

A wedding ring ! '' she cries, raising her hands and 
laughing. But what for ? It makes no difference ! ” 


128 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


« « « We are friends/' I say. “ Measure my finger, and 
tell me how much a ring will cost." 

« < « Perhaps forty francs," she says, humoring me. 

" « « Here are two English sovereigns. Go out and buy 
me one." 

" ‘ She laughs more heartily than before, takes the 
money and leaves the room. My purse contains six 
sovereigns and some silver, so I have four pieces of gold 
left. I have more than that. In a secret drawer in the 
desk are two five pound notes and ten more sovereigns in 
gold. I take this money from the drawer and secrete it 
under my bed. The purse I leave as it is, as the woman saw 
it, with the four sovereigns and the silver in it. She can 
steal that if she is so inclined. 

'"‘What is it that attracts me on a chest of drawers 
near my bed ? I look at it, I turn my eyes away, I look at 
again. Very, very slowly, because of my weak state, I 
crawl from the bed, and fill a glass from the bottle and 
drink it off. It warms, it cheers, it exilarates me. No 
more ; I must be cunning, wary. I creep back to bed, 
all my pulses singing, my wretchedness lightened, and 
presently the woman returns, humming the refrain of 
a popular song. 

“ I have it, my babe," she sings, '' the magic ring, 
which some wear who should not, and some don't who 

should. The difference between them is " 

' She blows a light breath through the hoop, and uses 
it as an eyeglass, looking at me through it. Then she tries 
it on my finger, and we both contemplate it. She regards 
it as a joke, I as a link of infamy, but neither of us expres- 
ses her thought. 

‘ '' It is thirty-five francs," she says. 

You may keep the change," I say, ‘"for your trouble, 
and because we are friends." 

“ ‘ “ You are charming, ' she says. “ Yes, my babe, we 
are friends.'* 

“ ‘ As, by my directions, she takes the desk from the 
bed and places it on a chair by my side, her eyes fall up- 
on the bottle, She lifts it to the light, and turns her eyes 
upon me. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 




‘ It has done mo good/’ I say. 

“ ^ “ One more small glass, then,” she says, merrily, and 
I will drink with you.” 

“ ‘ From that moment she seems to understand my crav- 
ing, and she assists me in satisfying it. 

Another interval of time, the duration of which I can- 
not state. I wake from a long, long dream, burning with 
fever. Another woman is in the room now with my nurse. 

« ' '' To-morrow ? ” she says to her companion, in a tone 
of inquiry. 

‘ Not to-morrow,” the strange woman replies ; “ but 
before the week is over.” 

“ ' What do they mean ? I toss my head this way and 
that. The stranger leaves the room. 

‘ I am on fire ! ” I cry. 

^ Drink then, my pretty one,” says my nurse, '' and 
keep your strength. You will want it all.” 

‘ She sits by the bedside, and we make merry together. 
She sings snatches of songs, and I join in. 

" '' In two weeks you will be up, and dancing about,” 
she says. 

I should like to dance now,” I reply, but the at- 
tempt I make is futile. 

' I fall back on my pillow, and watch her figure swell 
to an enormous size, then dwindle smaller and smaller till 
she lies in her chair in baby clothes. 

'' ' Baby clothes ! The room is filled with them. Now I 
know what the t vo women meant when they were talking 
together. My baby is coming, and will be in my arms be- 
fore the week is over. Where is the father ? Where is my 
false husband ? He is my husband, though I loathe the 
sight of him. What an infamous trick 1 And once I looked 
up to him as the embodiment of truth and manliness. There 
he is now, waiting for me at the trysting place. The night 
is dark, but I can see his handsome smiling face. 

« f « My darling !” he whispers, and presses me to his 
heart. 


130 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


‘ Ah ! He is choking me! I am suffocated — dying — 
Be still, be still 

' It is my nurse’s voice, and her arms enfold me, and 
hold me fast. 

'' ‘ “ Be still, be still I You will do yourself harm. Do 
you hear, my pretty one. Think of your baby. Drink 
this.” 

‘ Something is poured down my throat. I have no 
power to resist, no power to move. 

‘ Black night enshrouds me. I wander in darkness. 
Not a rift of light, not a glimpse of the sun. There are 
other shadows around and about me. 

Speak to me, sister.” 

‘ The voice is breathed into space ; no mortal ear can 
hear the sound ; it is the voice of a living ghost. 

<< ‘ What do you want ?” 

« < « Where is the sun ? Where is the stars ?” 

‘ Dead ! Clifford has killed them !” 

« < « Then there is nothing to live for. Come with me 
to the river.” 

« ' « No, no !” 

‘ Come with me, come with me. There is light at 
the bottom. Listen to the plash of water. It is singing a 
lullaby. Have you not suffered enough. You have only 
one heart, and it is broken. Why do you linger ?” 

“ Hush ! Do you not hear ?” 

What ?” 

‘ A baby’s cry. No, it is fancy — the voice of con- 
science. I will not come with you. I will not kill the 
unborn ! ” 

« ‘ Fool ! It will be a merciful deed. If your child is 
a man, he will be like Clifford, and will break a loving 
woman’s heart, as yours is broken. If it is a girl, she will 
be as you are now, wandering in the black shroud of the 
world. We are at the brink of the river. The water is ^ 
cool and refreshing. Take my hand, and we will plunge in | 
together.” 

‘<< « I ^t{\] xiot, I will not I My sin is great ; I will not 
add to it.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


131 


“ ' The ghostly shade seizes me by the hair. I struggle 
with it ; I shriek for help. . . . 

* * * -5^ 

f « Will you not be quiet ? Attend to me, obstinate 
one, or you shall be tied down.’" 

‘ Again my nurse. The horrible dream is over. 

^ I am quiet, nurse. It was a dream that frightened 
me. I thought it was real. Do not hold me so tight ; you 
hurt me. I will be quite quiet. You are a nurse, and 
ought to know that I am as weak as a child. Thank you, 
thank you. O, you can trust me. I am not a good woman, 
but you can trust me.’’ 

cc < fc There, my pretty one, I am sorry for you. I did 
not mean to hurt you, but there is another to take care of 
as well as you. Yes, you are weak now, but you are very 
strong sometimes. Your face is wet ; your hair is in dis- 
order. When you were little your mother used to do what 
I am doing for you.” 

“ ‘ I do not remember.” 

a < a You can remember, if you try. I am twice your 
age, and 1 remember well. There were four of us, all girls. 
Our friends said there were more than enough of us. All 
the other married people had only two each — just two, no 
more ; they said it was the proper number. We were four, 
and to-day we are all living.” 

. a « « Your sisters are not like me.” 

^ “ How ? ” 

' ‘‘ They are good women ? ” 

“ ‘ Oh, yes, they are good — as good as their neighbors. 
Don’t talk so much of goodness, my pretty one ; it is a 
mistake. Life is not too long. It is when the sun shines 
that we should enjoy the warmth. Now you look sweet 
and clean. You feel so, do you not ? Where is she, your 
mother ? ” 

‘ Dead, long ago.” 

^ But there must be someone. You did not grow up 
like a weed. You are a flower, and if you are clever you 
have a flne time before you. Someone must have cared 
for you ; you have been well taught.” 


132 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


« < I will not speak of her. I was wicked and ungrate- 
ful to her.’’ 

“ ‘ There is a long silence ; a shivering fit seizes me ; 
my limbs are trembling beneath the bedclothes. 

‘‘ ‘ Nurse ! ” 

‘‘ ‘ '' Yes, my pretty one ? ” 

Give me something to drink. I am fainting.” 

Alas, my child, there is nothing.’' 

“ ^ Is there no money in my purse ? ” 

‘ No, my child. I spent the last, as you bade me, 
and every drop is drank.” 

‘ Another silence, during which I grope under the 
mattress. Presently ; 

fc < « Here is an English sovereign, nurse. Go, and buy 
what I want.” 

« ( « You are clever. Yes, my pretty one, I will go.” 

“ ^ Again, for a little while, I conquer the demon that is 
driving me mad 

******** 

** ' Oh, my baby, my treasure, my sweet angel from 
heaven ! She was in my arms, her little hand in mine. I 
opened my eyes, and gazed upon her lovely face. I closed 
them, and folded her to my breast. The demon was van- 
quished. It was day, and the sun was shining. It was 
night, and I saw the stars. 

« < There, my pretty one,” said my nurse. ‘‘ You are 
happy now.” 

‘ I am. I ought not to be. I am a wicked mother. 
I have no milk to give my child.” 

‘ That is right, the doctor says. It would not do — 
no, it would not do. She will be better as it is, and so will 
you be. She will grow up beautiful, like you.” 

“ ‘ Is beauty a blessing, nurse ? ” 

‘ Listen to the pretty mother. Is beauty a blessing ? 
If it was only to be purchased for money, what sums would 
be paid for it ? What would the world be without beauty, 
my pretty mother ? Beauty and pleasure — that makes a 
song we are all glad to sing.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


138 


« t « There was a thought in loy mind. I£ time would 
stand still ! If there were no to-morrow 1 

‘‘ ‘ Is it really true, nurse, as you have told me, that I 
am very violent sometimes ? ” 

‘‘ ' ‘‘ It is true, O, yes, my pretty mother. Many times, 
many times.'’ 

And strong ? ’’ 

« ^ Very strong. To look at you now it is not to be 
believed ! But it is true for all that.” 

‘ “ And that I do not know what I am doing ? ” 

'' ‘ “ It is as I have said.” 

“ ' '' Do not let me hurt my baby ! ” 

It shall not be. What am I here for ? I will see 

to it.” 

‘ Something is coming into the room, nurse ! ” 

‘ “ It is your fancy — nothing more.” 

‘ It is not my fancy. Clifford is here — at last, at 
last. Clifford ! Clifford ! ” 

' He stood, with folded arms, his face to mine. I called 
to him, entreated him, implored him to confess that the 
base story he had told me was a lie. He did not move ; he 
did not speak. I continued to implore. I asked him to 
take his child in his arms, and, if his story was true, to re- 
move the burden of shame which is killing me, to give me 
the right, even at this late hour, to look my fellow-creatures 
in the face. Still he neither spoke nor moved. And where 
was my child ? It was gone from my side ; it had been 
taken from me. 

''^"You shall not rob me of her!” I screamed, and 
would have flung myself upon him, but I was thrust back, 
and imprisoned by stronger arms than mine. 

‘ A vapor floated before me. My voice failed me ; my 
mind was a blank 

“ ‘ Whether months or years have passed I cannot say. 
I boasted of my memory once ; it has failed me, and I can 
no longer depend upon it. 

' I have been haunted by visions and terrible images 


134 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


and fancies. I cannot separate the real from the unreal. I 
know not what is false and what is true. Here in my 
loneliness I sit and write, and what I write shall go to her 
to whom I pour out my soul. I will find a way. Have I not 
succeeded in stealing paper and pen and ink ? In the midst 
of my delirium I have an occasional hour of reason, an 
hour in which I am able to think of the horrible past, to 
grope through fact and fancy. Be calm, Adeline,'^ I say 
to myself; “be strong; hold fast to the present; brush 
aside the phantoms ; set the truth plainly before you.’’ 

“ 'I will do what I can. If I fail, forgive me, and out 
of the goodness of your heart unravel the mesh which 
bewilders me. 

“ ‘ It is true that I live — it is the unhappy truth. I prove 
it. This sheet of paper is stained with my blood. 

“ ' It did not hurt me. I can conquer physical pain, if I 
cannot conquer the phantoms which lurk in the air. I know 
they are there, though at this moment I cannot behold them. 
I cannot because I will not. I could call them to my sight, 
but I hold them back till I have finished the task I have set 
myself. While I have a spark of reason left I will use it to 
tell my story to the end. Pity me, pity me ! 

“ ‘ Yes, it is true that I live. Feeble as I am, I still draw 
breath. The door is locked, but I can see through the 
window. There are trees with waving branches upon the 
land. Birds flutter through them. The blue clouds sail 
on. I am warm. It is summertime. Summertime! Alas! 

“ ‘ It is true I had a child, a baby girl, with breath like 
the perfume of violets, shaming mine. I held her in my 
arms ; I kissed her sweet mouth.’ She is gone ; she is lost. 
Dead, dead ! 

“ " So they told me. I do not remember when, but they 
told me. I am ready to swear it. O, my baby, my sweet ! 
Would you have lived if I had been a better mother to you? 
Is it I who worshipped you — is it I who killed you ? They 
did not say so ! “ Murderess I ” Other things as horrible 

have been whispered to me, as horrible and as false as this. 
It is done to madden me. I have heard it said that I am 
mad. But do mad people do what I am going to do now ? 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


135 


'' ^ There was bread in the room. I broke some into 
crumbs and put them out on the window-sill. There are 
iron bars to the windows, through which I can thrust my 
hand. 

“ ‘ The birds came and flew away with the crumbs, and 
I did not stand far from them. Would they have done 
that if I had been mad ? 

'‘‘And yet what I have heard them say is true, but not 
always true — not true at this moment ; only they doubt 
whether I am ever sane. 

“ ‘ This is not a prison ; it is a private asylum for those 
who give way to their horrible craving for drink. 

“ ‘ “ Do you wish to get well ? It was a doctor, not the 
nurse who attended me in Paris, who asked the question. 
“ Do you wish to live ? 

“Yes,’’ I answered. 

“ ‘ “ Sign this paper,’’ he said, “ and there is hope for 
you. Refuse, and you are lost.” 

“ ‘ “ Why should I sign a paper,” I said. “ You have 
done what you liked with me ; you are doing what you 
like with me.” 

“ ‘ “ What is being done,” he said, “ is for your good. 
There are times when you are not accountable for your 
actions. You are an English subject, and you cannot 
be taken where you can be cured without your 
written consent.” 

“ When I am well,” I said, “shall I be set free ? ” 

“ “‘You will,” he replied. “ For your own sake, for your 
child’s sake, sign.” 

“ ‘ I put my name to the paper, which the doctor read 
first ; but I did not hear what he said. My only thought 
was that I must try to get well for the sake of my child. 

“ ‘ There is a noise in the passage without. Some one 
is coming in. I must hide this paper, and play the hypo- 
crite. 

“ ‘ The door is unlocked, and the master of the house 
enters. I do not know his name, and I have seen him only 
twice before. He reminded me then of a fox, and he re- 
minds me of one now. He has a long, thin, pointed face, 


136 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


with cunning eyes, which say, Do not trust me, do not 
trust me.’^ He does not think that his eyes betray him. 

‘‘ ' I am on my guard. On the two previous occasions 
on which I saw him I was ill, and we held no conversa- 
tion. He spoke only to a woman who attends to me, whom 
I address, as she bade me, as Gabrielle. She is quite a 
different person from the nurse who looked after me in 
Paris, and looks as if her life had been a life of trouble. I 
have asked her questions about myself, which she has 
evaded answering, not from unkindness, but from fear of 
the master. 

« < Pray do not press me,” she said. The master will 
come and see you one day, and than you can speak to him. 
But be careful what you say ; he is very clever.” 

“ ^ By clever she meant cunning, so when he enters my 
room now I set myself a task, to be as cunning as he is. 
There are a good many things I want to know about, and 
I do not see how I can get the information from any 
one but the master. 

‘ Gabrielle follows him into the room, and stands 
submissively at the door. The master holds out his hand, 
and I place mine in it. He presses my fingers caressingly, 
insinuatingly, as though he would read my thoughts 
through them. 

u < « You are better to-day,’’ he says. 

‘ I am well,” I reply. 

'' ^ No, no,” he says, in gentle correction, ‘'better, but 
not well.” 

“ “ You know best,” I say. 

“ ‘ “ Yes,” he says, “ I know best. Gabrielle says you 
wish to speak to me.” 

““‘I asked her to tell you so.” 

“ I am here, you see,” he says, almost gaily, “ at your 
request. You are calm ? ” 

“ ‘ “ Quite calm.” 

“ ‘ “ What we have to guard against,” he says, his fox- 
like eyes fixed on my 1‘ace, “is dissimulation, deceit, artful- 
ness to gain the end a patient has in view. The practice 
of these deceptions is always followed by punishment. Is 
it not, Gabrielle ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


137 


‘ “ Always, master,’' she answers. 

I am not clever enough to deceive you,” Isay, '' and if 
I were there is nothing to be gained by it.” 

That is well said.” 

“ ‘ He motions to Gabrielle to leave the room, and the 
master and I are alone. 

a < c< You wish to speak to me,” he says; ''I also wish 
to speak to you. You wish to know something. Let me 
see if I can answer. 

'' ' How long ago is it since I was brought here ?” I ask. 

Eight months,” he answers. 

'' ‘ '' Is it possible ? ” 

‘‘ ' It is better than possible ; it is true. The date of 
the entrance of every patient in this house is recorded in 
the books.” 

“ ‘ I signed a paper, did I not ? ” 

"'"''Youdid. Without your signature you could not 
have been admitted.” 

Entering of my own free will, can I leave of my 
own free will ? ” 

'' ' It will be prudent,” he says, not to immediately 
answer the question.” 

You may answer it at another time ? ” 

a c « p0]-haps at another time.” 

« < You perceive that I am rational.” 

' Appearances are not to be trusted.” 

‘ Desirous to avoid the least sympton of contention I 
pass from the subject. 

I had a child,” I say, my voice trembling, my heart 
throbbing. 

I was so informed. You have lost her ? ” 

“ ' There was no compassion in his voice ; it was as cold 
as steel. 

It is really true ? ” I ask, with difficulty controlling 
my voice. 

It is really true.” 

« f « I speak for several minutes. I expected 

this confirmation, but could not bear it without deep suf- 
fering. 


138 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“ ' Having borne this ordeal, I could bear others. 

« f f ■ What malady was I suffering from when I was 
brought to this house ? ’’ 

‘ “ It is expressed in the document you signed.” 

“ ‘ But let me hear my shame ! ” I plead. 

‘'‘“As you will,” says the master. ‘‘You had a crav- 
ing for strong drink which was driving you mad. You 
came here to be cured.” 

“ ‘ “ Am I cured ? ” 

“ ‘“ I cannot say.” 

“ ‘ “ Surely you are wise enough and clever enough to 
tell me ! I implore you ! ” 

“ ‘ “ I will tell you to-morrow.” 

“ ‘ With this assurance I am forced to be content. To- 
morrow ! It is only a few hours. And now for infor- 
mation upon a matter which has agitated my mind. 

“ ‘ “ This is a private establishment ? ” I ask. I know 
that it is so because Madame Gabrielle has told me, but the 
reason why I ask the master is that it leads naturally to 
what I wish to learn. 

“ ‘ “ It is.” 

“ ‘ “ Kept up at your own expense ? ” 

“ ‘ “ Assuredly.” 

“ “‘You are a philanthropist ? ” 

“ ‘ “ Oh, no ; I am a business nan.” 

“ ‘ “ But a philanthropist as well.” He looks at me, and 
shrugs his shoulders. “ It costs money being kept here ? ” 

“ ‘ “ Yes, it costs money.” 

“ ‘ “ Who pays for me ? ” 

“ ‘ “ Ah,” he says, repeating my question, “ who pays 
for you ? ” 

“ ‘ “ Will you not tell me ? ” 

“ ‘ “ There are confidences,” he replies. “ Be content that 
you have friends.” 

Friends?” 

“ ‘ “ One, at least.” 

“ ‘ A glance at his face assures me that it wdll be useless 
to press the inquiry, but with Clifford in my mind I ven- 
ture to ask, 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


139 


'' ' '' Is he a gentleman ? '' 

'' '' Oh, yes, undoubtedly a gentleman, having money.” 

‘ That is the test, in his view, and he states it with 
an indisputable air. 

‘ Has he been to see me ? I ask. 

“ No, he has not.” 

" ' Where is he now ? ” 

" " I do not know.” 

“ ‘ ‘‘ But he pays regularly, does he not, or you could 
not afford to keep me.” 

^ He pays,'’ says the master, “ through a third party.” 

“ ^ Then he puts an end to my questions by saying, “ I 
have been very indulgent. Ask nothing more to-day, but 
answer me.” 

^ He interrogates me as to who I am, whether I have 
parents, or brothers or sisters living. Evidently he is 
curious about my history, and knows very little con- 
cerning it. I answer him truthfully up to a. certain point, 
but I give him no clue of the one friend I have in America, 
and when he leaves me I see that he is dissatisfied, and 
that he believes I have been telling him untruths. 

' This that I have written must go to the post. Only 
Madame Gabrielle can do it for me. It it strange that I 
have contrived, through all my troubles and illness, to keep 
by me one five pound note, which I sewed in my dress 
when I was in Paris. Before Gabrielle enters the room, 
after the departure of the master, I have picked the threads 
and extracted my treasure, but when she comes in I do not 
know how to commence. She assists me, however, by ask- 
ing if the master had been kind to me, and I tell her what 
passed between us ; and then I confess to her that I said 
nothing to him of the friend I have in a distant land. 

I have written to her,” I say, and there is no one 
but you who would post my letter to her.” 

' She looks alarmed, but I appeal to her so success- 
fully that she promises to do what I ask. I gave her the 
five pound note, and she is to bring me the change for it, 
and some postage stamps. It is while she is gone that I 
am adding these lines. 


140 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE, 


" ‘ If I am cured I shall surely he allowed to leave this 
place. The master will tell me to-morrow. But why 
could he not tell me to-day ? Being well, they can have 
no excuse to detain me here. I will go and seek Clifford, 
but lirst I must see my child's grave. 

'' ' Where have they buried her ? I have seen pictures 
of spots where I should like her sweet body to rest, where 
I would like to rest myself. As I write, it seems as if I 
can feel the tender clasp of her baby fingers, as if I can see 

her lovely eyes and face 

' Hush, Adeline — be calm, do not give way. So much 
depends upon it. Your life, your liberty, your future. To 
be confined within these walls for ever would truly drive 
me mad. '' A craving for strong drink which was driving 
you mad." The master s words. It was Clifford who led 
me to it. Upon his soul, as well as upon mine, lie the sin 
and the shame. 

'' ‘ What is the meaning of the sudden thirst that steals 
upon me, that parches my throat, that causes my eyes to 
wander to every corner of the room ? Am I cured ? I 
shall know to-morrow. I am trembling in every limb. 
Gabrielle's step without. I must hide my writing — no, I 
am forgetting. She is to post it for me. 

'' ^ To-morrow has come and gone, and I know whether 
I am cured. 

" ^ I had fallen asleep in my chair, and when I awoke no 
one was with me. There was a dim light burning, depend- 
ing from the centre of the ceiling, where I could not reach 
it. The parching of my throat continued, and I went to 
the table to get some drink. There was a wooden cup 
there, an earthen water bottle, and another bottle. I took 
out the cork, and smelt it. I held the bottle in my shud- 
dering hands, put it down — carefully, so that it should not 
be brolven — and tottered back to my chair. 

“ ' I can recall every thought, every little incident of 
those few conscious minutes. I covered my eyes with my 
hands, and struggled with the temptation. But my throat 
was burning, and a devil was whispering in my ear. Don't 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


141 


be a fool/' it said. Open your eyes and look round the 
room. It resembles a tomb. Bring light and gladness into 
it, and to your heart as well. It is so simple. Just one 
little drop. Take it as a medicine — you need it. Why 
spend the night in wretchedness ? Just one little drop ! " 

'' ' As a medicine, yes — and I do need it, sorely, sorely. 
Just one little drop — no more ; and I would put water to it. 
Why, a doctor would give it to me ! Where, then, was the 
harm of helping myself ? 

' I rose, and stood by the table, the wooden cup in my 
hand. I poured some brandy into it, and added water ; 
then, without pausing to think, drank it off. 

" In a moment everything was changed. Gloom fled 
from the room, from my heart. I laughed aloud. But I 
had taken so little ! If those few drops had effected such 
a transformation, had made me strong and happy, and 
bright, how much would a little more do ? 

“ ' The second time I drank it without water, and then, 
in wild and joyous excitement, I drank again and again, 
till not a drop was left. The bottle dropped from my hand, 
and rolled upon the floor. I tried to catch it, and in the 
attempt fell, and could not rise. 

Four days ago I made up my mind to escape, out I 
could not have succeeded without the assistance of Gab- 
rielle. She heard my story ; she told me hers. It is the 
old story of betrayal and desertion. She was going to 
leave her service in a month she said, and she would risk 
being turned away before. I recompensed her by giving 
her twenty francs. I have very little money left now. 

'' " I could obtain no satisfaction from the master. I told 
him that I did not intend to stay any longer in his house, 
and he said he Avould think about it. Had my door been 
left open I should have walked out at once, but he kept it 
always locked, and he took care to have every movement I 
made watched. The bond of sympathy established between 
me and Gabrielle caused me to open my heart freely to her. 

“ ^ Can he confine me here all my life ? " I asked. 

''''' I should say not," replied Gabrielle. “You are an 
English subject." 


142 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


‘ I thanked her for the hint, and two or three days 
afterwards I asked the master whether he had thought 
about my intention to leave his house. 

I have written about it,” he answered. 

" '' To whom ? ” I inquired. 

^ '' To the party who is responsible,” he said. 

I am the only party responsible for my confinement 
in this prison,” I said. 

' He interrupted me, saying it was not a prison. 

‘ '' That is what I understood,” I said. “ I have done no 
wrong to anyone but myself, have committed no crime for 
which I am liable to the law. Give me the name of the 
responsible party, as you call him.” 

' '' That,” said the master, ‘‘ I decline to do.” 

I will giYQ it to you,” I said, " His name is 
Clifford.” 

‘ Fox as he was, I saw in his eyes that I was right, and 
1 saw, also, that he was uneasy at the bold attitude I was 
taking. This made me bolder still. 

'' ' If he has authority over me,” I continued, “ he must 
be my husband. Has he informed you that he is ? ” 

I have asked him no questions,” he said. 

'' ' Say that he is my husband,” I pursued. I am an 
English subject, and he cannot confine me here against my 
will. I revoke the document I signed, which I mistakenly 
signed. If you keep me imprisoned in your house, which 
you have told me is a private establishment, it is unlawful, 
and you can be punished for it.” 

«f«You can speak very freely,” he said,” '‘when you 
are in possession of your senses, but when you are not ’’ 

“ ' “ Even then,” I said, “ I am my own mistress, and not 
your prisoner. Am I free to go now ? ” 

“ I am afraid,” he said, " that you must wait till I 
receive instructions.” 

" ' " I will wait,” I said, “ but not for long.” 

“ A week passed, and still he paltered with me. Then 
I resolved to escape. 

“ ‘ It was done in the night. I tore the sheets from 
my bed into strips, and tying them together, 'svith Gabrieli e's 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


143 


help, fastened them to the window sill. But I did not 
dare to descend to the ground by that means ; it was done 
only to save Gabrielle from being implicated, and to lead 
them to believe that I had escaped by the window. I 
went out through the door of my room and the street 
door, which Gabrielle unlocked and locked, and I stood, 
a free woman in an unknown land, surrounded by 
darkness. 

‘ I had received some instructions from Gabrielle which 
I endeavored to follow. Her sister lived a dozen miles 
away, and Gabrielle gave me a letter to her which would 
ensure for me food and shelter as long as I was able to 
pay for them. I was to follow the high road till it 
branched out left and right, and my directions from that 
point were sufficiently clear to lead me to the cottage. 
But in the dark I was too frightened to proceed, so 
I walked only a hundred yards or so, and waited for the 
sun. It was weary work, and I was not as strong as I 
thought. I had no alternative, however. 

'‘‘In the matter of money I had deceived Gabrielle, 
as I am deceiving everybody. My life, indeed, is now nothing 
but deceit. I told Gabrielle that when I was free I should 
be able easily to obtain what money I required, and the 
simple soul believed me. Perhaps that was the reason 
why she elected to be my friend. I cannot say. There 
is only one being in the world who is absolutely truth- 
ful. and good — the lady I once called mother. 

“ ‘ The first tinge of daylight showed me the road, and 
I proceeded as quickly as my numbed limbs would allow. 
I was fearful of being pursued and caught, but I had 
resolved to fight for my freedom with all my strength. 
Nothing of the sort occurred. So far as I knew I was 
not followed, nor was I molested by any of the work-i 
people I met, though many gazed in curiosity after me. 
My feet were tender and my frame weak, and when thg 
full sun rose I was already exhausted. I stopped at anl 
inn and had something to eat and drink, a dish of eggs 
and brown bread, and two glasses of a kind of cherry 
brandy. I would have drank more, but I had strength! 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


|144 

Ifchis time to resist the craving. Helpless, I might fall 
jinto the toils again. I knew it to be imperative that I 
should preserve my senses — that was my only reason for 
resisting. 

' Slowly I went on, and at nightfall was some distance 
from the cottage. At another cottage I succeeded in ob- 
taining shelter ; they had no bed to offer me, but they 
spread straw upon the earth which formed the flooring of 
their home, and there I lay till morning, paying them a 
trifle for the accommodation. At noon of the second day 
I reached the cottage where Gabrielle’s sister lives. I pre- 
sented Gabrielle’s letter, and was warmly welcomed. 

cf c You can have Gabrielle’s little room,'’ the woman 
said, till she conies. She says she is coming soon. By 
that time you will want to go away." 

^ I made a bargain with her for food and lodgment ; so 
small was the sum she asked that I was able to pay her 
four weeks in advance, and still have a little money left. .1 
would not rob the poor woman, though she would have 
trusted me. When the time came for payment my purse 
might be empty, so I secured her and myself for a month. 

' She took me to Gabriclle's room, and I helped her to 
set it straight ; then I lay down on the straw mattress to 
rest. I slept, and in my sleep, as it seemed to me, I heard 
the voice of a woman speaking and singing to her babe. 
It is a sound there is no mistaking. The tears ran down my 
face ; I put my hands to my eyes ; my lingers were wet. 
I was awake, then ; it was no dream, for I still heard the 
singing. I crept down stairs, and there was a baby in the 
woman’s lap. I held out my trembling arms, and the 
mother smiled, and allowed me to take the child. She told 
me when her little girl was horn. I do not know the date 
of the birth of my own darling, but it must have been at 
about the same time. Deep was my emotion as I nursed 
this little stranger, rocking to and fro, and trying f)o sing 
through my tears and anguish. The smiling face of the 
woman underwent a change ; she regarded me seriously. 
Putting her hand on my arm, she said, 

' '' You have been a mother," 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


145 


i< ^ most unhappy mother,'' I said. 

‘ And your child ? 

'' ' I looked down upon the earth ; then upward through 
the open cottage window. 

a c a Pqqj. child, poor child ! " the woman murmured. 

' This note of sympathy was like the opening of 
heaven's gates to me. I had fallen very, very low ; I was 
dishonored, disgraced ; and when the bitter truth was re- 
vealed to me, I had courted a deeper degradation, seeking 
only a selfish oblivion of my first disgrace. I was young ; 
in the course of nature, if I preserved my health, if I did 
not ruin my constitution by degrading habits, there might 
be a long life before me. For the first time since the day 
on which Clifford had made his shameful, his infamous 
confession, I was inspired by a sentiment higher than mere 
selfishness and despair. I would try to be good ; yes, I 
would strive to overcome the fatal infatuation which was 
destroying me, body and soul. It seemed to me as if the 
babe in my arms was a shield protecting me from all evil, 
enabling me to defy the demoniac temptation so often 
whispered in my ear. This helpless babe was all powerful 
in its holy influence ; I would cling to it, and it should 
save me from the pit. I begged to be allowed to nurse the 
child when it did not need its mother, and the woman said, 
certainly, she would be glad, it would be a help to her. 
I thanked her, and that was the first night for many, many 
months on which I can say I was happy. 

‘‘ ‘ Two days have passed since then, and I feel that I 
am among friends. The husband is a laborer in the fields ; 
he goes out early and comes home late; and the wife has 
to work hard too. They do not grumble at the toil ; they 
have just enough, no more, and they have been married 
only two years. It is yet the summer of love. 

* * * * * * * 
'' ^Whoever says there is hope for those who have fallen 
lies. Whoever preaches salvation for lost souls, lies. The 
happy hours were few. Night has come again. 

‘‘ ‘ It was a fete day. In great cities people go into the 
country for their holiday. They work in close streets and 


146 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


houses ; fields and hedgerows are a paradise for them. But 
here on fete days they go to the wine-shops. What 
attraction can the fields they labor in from sunrise till sun- 
down have for the toilers ? None. Their paradise is the 
wine-shop. 

* So we all went ; Gabrielle’s sister, her husband and 
little Julie, their child. 

“ ' There was a fair close by with more wine-shops, and 
there we went later in the day. People were drinking all 
around me, and I touched nothing but water. It sickened 
me ; it made me faint ; but still I resisted, growing weaker 
and weaker, while the craving grew stronger and stronger. 
The faces of my friends were flushed, even the mother s 
face as she tossed her baby in the air. In fear lest the 
little one should fall and be injured, I took it from the 
mother’s arms. She laughed, and said : 

tr < « Yes, you are right. But it is only for to-day. To- 
morrow we shall be ourselves again. Don’t be afraid. 
This is not the first time, and I hope it will not be the last.” 

' These words had a singular effect upon me. “ It is 
not the first time, and I hope it will not be the last.” She 
had no fear of herself, for she said, “Don’t be afraid;” 
and, “ To-morrow we shall be ourselves again.” 

“ ^ If they had such confidence in themselves, why not 
I ? Surely I was as strong as they ? “ You are, you are,’* 

whispered the fiend. “ Do not be shamed by them. You 
are town bred, educated, a lady ; they are country clowns. 
See how merry they are. Follow their example and be 
happy.” 

“ ' I pressed my fingers to my ears ; I talked loudly to 
little Julie, to drown the voice of the tempter ; but it was 
like dust; it would not be denied. It whispered and 
whispered, drawing me on, maddening me. x\nd still I 
resisted. 

“ ‘ We entered a booth, but I did not see the entertain- 
ment. I wanted neither to see nor to hear ; all I wanted 
was little Julie, my shield, close, close to my breast. The 
show was over ; we trooped out. 

“‘“Come, Madame Straightlace,” said little Julie’s 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 147 

father, It is your turn to treat now. Look at my 
pockets.” 

“ ' He turned them inside out ; they were empty. 

u c « Yes, it is your turn, your turn/’ laughed his wife. 

^ I offered him a few small pieces of money, but he 
cried — 

no, I am not a beggar. We haven’t come to 
that yet, wife.” 

‘ No, indeed,” said she. 

'' ' Show your friendliness,” said the man, and drink 
with us. It is the only way.” 

'' ‘ In jovial mood they dragged me to the wine-shop. 
Had the fiend whispered to me at that moment I should 
not have fallen again, but the voice was silent, the tempter 
being as conscious as I was myself of the struggle going 
on within me. In desperation I threw money on the 
counter, and taking the glass Julie’s father held towards 
me, drained it in a moment. 

‘ That’s well done,” said Julie’s father, '' as well as I 
could have done it myself. You brighten up at once ; your 
eyes are dancing in your head. It is as it should be. This 
is not the time for long faces. Here.” 

'' ‘ Another glass was held out to me, which I drained 
like the first. The lights, the people resembled fire-flies 
flitting all ways at once. 

« Where is my little Julie ? ” cried the man. Give 
me. my little Julie.” 

'' ' He tried to take the child from my arms, but I held 
it tight. We had a struggle, on his side in fun and merriment, 
on mine more seriously, and he obtained possession of Julie. 
Thank God for that! She was not in my arms during 
what followed. 

‘‘ ' Can I describe it ? Suddenly, without warning, the 
air was filled with cries of terror. Some light material 
with which the wine shop was decorated took fire, and in 
a moment the place was in a blaze. The shrieks of women, 
the fighting for the doors, the beating down of the weak, 
the frenzied appeals and imprecations, were horrible. 
They ring in my ears now, those death shrieks; I see 


148 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


women in flames struggling and leaping. These live in my 
imagination ; the reality was even more terrible. 

" ‘ The wine shop was burned to the ground, and some 
booths adjoining. The dead were carried out, and laid on 
the ground, their forms illumined by torches which men 
were holding. Among the dead were little Julie and her 
mother. 

' I fled. The forest was four miles from the spot, but 
I felt no fatigue till I reached it. There I sank upon the 
fallen leaves, and writhed in anguish. What hope was 
there in the world for me now ? How I passed the night 
I know not. The sun rose upon a soul for ever lost. I 
cannot continue 

******* * 

“ ' Once before when I was wandering in darkness, did 
Mary Sternhold come to me. I did not know then that it 
was she who called me sister, and would have wooed me 
to seek death in the quiet waters of the river. I know it 
now. 

' As on that occasion, there are shadows around and 
about me, dark shadows of despair, seeking rest. Will they 
ever find it ? How long have they been wandering in their 
hopeless search ? I ask the question aloud ? I am 
answered. 

“ ‘ “ They are not the same. Every day the sun sinks 
upon new recruits. The ranks are quickly filled.” 

« « Who are you ?” 

Mary Sternhold. I came once before.” 

<i ( « remember.” 

...jt was before your baby was born.” 

‘ Alas, yes !” 

‘ ‘‘ Before your baby died 

“ ' Do not torture me.” 

I am here to bless, not to torture. I am here to 
give you peace.” 

“ ‘ Have you found it yourself ?” 

^ I have, and I bring it to others who fear the ordeal. 
Since I last spoke to you has happiness been your por- 
tion V 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


149 


‘ Black misery has been my portion.'’ 

« « Why, then, do you tarry ? The sweetness of the 
world is not for such as you. It is folly to continue to 
suffer, when you have the remedy in your hands. Your 
youth is blighted ; you will be old soon — long before your 
time — and you will sigh in vain for the blessing that now 
may be yours. You have sinned unconsciously. Beware 
lest you sin consciously. Look at me.” 

' A star fell, and in the swift transient gleam I saw 
the form of Mary Sternhold. It was clad in white. Peace 
shone upon her brow. 

Look upon yourself.” 

' Again a star fell, and I saw my form for one brief 
moment, a form to shudder at, to fly from. Torn garments; 
a haggard face ; dishevelled hair ; eyes of wild despair. 

‘‘ ‘ As you are, so should I have been, and worse, if I 
had cared to live. As you are, so should I have been, and 
worse, if I had refused the blessing I offer to you. Shall I 
show you what you will become if you are still obdurate ?” 
'' ‘ No, no ! I never heard of your end, Mary.” 
a i any one else. I took care of that. Only God 
saw.” 

And was not angry ?” 

f a You have seen me ; you have seen yourself. Be 
persuaded.” 

“ ‘ I am a coward. I do not dare.” 

< << Faint heart ? There is one you do not think of.” 
-.a Who?” 

c< < i.' Your baby. She is waiting for you. She will open 
her little arms for your embrace. She will hold up her 
sweet face for your kiss. You can meet her now, but not 
in the time to come. Low as you have sunk, the worst has 
not befallen ; you may not escape from it if you live.” 

‘ I held my breath. The river was singing its lullaby 
of peace, of love, of release from wretchedness and despair. 
Led by the spirit of Mary Sternhold I walked slowly on. 
The branches were bending, there was a soft rustle of 
leaves, the air was charged with sobs. 

« f « You are sure God will not be angry ? ” 


150 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


"" " ‘‘ He will be pleased with you.” 

‘‘ ‘ '' And my baby will welcome me ? ” 

« ‘ “ With gladness.” 

‘ The water was before me. I raised my eyes to 
heaven. Of that sad night I remember nothing more. . 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

This,'’ said Mr. Barlow, is the last communication — the 
scraps cannot be called letters — Mrs. Kennedy received in 
the handwriting of Adeline Ducroz. Whether they were 
all that were written is hardly likely, considering the cir- 
cumstances and the many years that have passed, to *be 
ever known. My own opinion is that many ‘must have 
miscarried — for this reason : nearly all that I have read 
was written at lucid intervals. There were periods, long 
or short, when the poor girl was not i^ccountable for her 
actions, and during those periods I have no doubt she 
scribbled sometimes in secret. I would give something out 
of my own pocket to get hold of these portions of her con- 
fession which never reached their destination.” 

“For literary purposes?” I asked, and as I put the 
question a suspicion crossed my mind. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Barlow, complacently, “for literary 
purposes.” 

“ Look here, Barlow,” I said, giving utterance to my 
suspicion, “ these papers are genuine, I suppose ? ” 

“ What do you think ? ” asked Mr. Barlow in return, 
with an amused expression on his shrewd face. 

‘'They are so extraordinary and unusual,” I stam- 
mered — 

" Go on, Millington,” said Mr. Barlow. “ What are you 
stopping for ? Say what is in your mind. They are so 
extraordinary and unusual.” 

" And in some parts,” I continued, rather embarrassed, 
“although I am not much of a judge, so poetical ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE.' 


151 


'' Go on, Millington, go on,’' said Mr. Barlow, encourag- 
ingly, '' and in some parts so poetical ” 

That I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that you had 
made them up yourself.” 

Much obliged to you for the compliment,” said Mr. 
Barlow, but your opinion of my powers is too high ; it 
really is, Millington. If I were equal to such flights of the 
imagination I would throw up business to-morrow and start 
my literary career at once. The papers are genuine — one 
of the strangest chapters in real life I ever met with. What 
you say about their being poetical here and there is true ; 
I was struck with it myself. It only shows what may be 
hidden in a person which, but for some crisis, might never 
come out. They say poets are mad ; here is a proof of it. 
Now let us carry the story on.” 

He tied the papers carefully together, having previously 
re-arranged them, put them aside and resumed : 

''The receipt of these communications occasioned Mrs. 
Kennedy the greatest anxiety, but she had other anxieties 
of a strictly personal nature which prevented her from 
moving in the matter, even if she had possessed the means to 
do so, which she had not. At about that time her husband 
met with an accident which crippled him for life. She had 
not only to nurse him, but to attend to his business affairs, 
which otherwise would have fallen into ruinous confusion. 
Occupation enough for one woman. Her husband became 
a confirmed invalid, and for many years was confined to the 
house. Her first duty lay in their home, and she performed 
it bravely. The communications she had received from 
Adeline Ducroz ceased at a critical moment in the young 
girl’s life. There is no room to doubt that, urged to the 
deed by a disordered imagination and by the desperate 
position to which she was driven, she attempted to commit 
suicide. How she was rescued, and what was her subse- 
quent fate remained a mystery for several years, and when 
Mrs. Kennedy obtained a clue it was by one of those singu- 
lar chances which I believe to be sufficiently common, 
though most people regard them as inexplicable and extra- 
ordinary. Some, indeed, go so far as to declare them to be 


152 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


direct acts of Providence, which, between you and me, Mil- 
lington, is sheer nonsense. Mr. Kennedy became so con- 
firmed a hypochondriac that it was necessary he should have 
some one continually with him. " It is impossible for you 
to attend to him yourself,’ said the doctor ; " you must get 
a trained nurse.’ And although Mrs. Kennedy was at first 
reluctant to give her husband into the care of a stranger 
she was compelled eventually to take the doctor’s advice. 
She asked him to obtain a kind and experienced person for 
the duty, and in the course of a few days he sent her a 
Frenchwoman who could speak English well, and whose 
certificates and letters of recommendation were unexception- 
able. The engagement was made, and, as you will see, led 
to an important result, apart from the service she was hired 
to perform.” 

This woman,” I said, represents the singular chance 
you spoke of ? ” 

'' She does,’' replied Mr. Barlow. 

I jumped at a conclusion. She was the woman who 
acted as nurse to Adeline Ducroz in Paris.” 

You have guessed it,” said Mr. Barlow ; the identical 
woman. She was with Mrs. Kennedy a couple of months 
before the discovery was made. Mr. Kennedy’s condition 
became so bad that he could not sleep, and opiates had to be 
administered to him. This sometimes sets the nurse free of 
an evening, at which times she and Mrs. Kennedy would 
keep each other company. Her name was Madame Pau. 
One night, when Mr. Kennedy was asleep, Madame Pau 
commenced to relate some of her professional experiences in 
Paris and elsewhere, mentioning no names. She had nursed 
all kinds of patients, and her anecdotal reminiscences were 
drawn principally from the humorous side of her occupation. 
Suddenly an idea occurred to Mrs. Kennedy. ' Were you 
in Paris in 1867 ? ’ she asked. ‘ And in 1868 as well, 
Madame,’ replied Madame Pau. ‘ Following your occupa- 
tion ? ’ 'Yes, Madame.’ ' At an institution ? ’ ' No, 

Madame. I nursed patients at their private residences.’ ' Is 
it possible,’ thought Mrs. Kennedy, ' that this can be the 
woman who nursed ' Adeline ? ’ She asked the question 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


153 


boldly, and, according to her account, the woman at first 
rather hesitated to reply. This hesitation strengthened 
Mrs. Kennedy’s idea. She represented to the woman that 
she was deeply interested in the young lady to whom she 
referred, and after a little persuasion and the promise of a 
bribe, Madame Pau spoke freely. She had nursed Adeline 
Ducroz, and she knew more than Mrs. Kennedy suspected. 
What she subsequently revealed is set down in narrative 
form by Madame Pau, in French, and afterwards translated 
by Mrs. Kennedy. Here is the translation, in Mrs. Kennedy’s 
writing. You will find it interesting. It opens up a new 
field of speculation, and throws a light upon Mr. Julius 
Clifford’s character.” 

Selecting a paper from the documents near him Mr. 
Barlow proceeded to read : 

The statement of Madame Pau, late of Paris, now of the 
United States of America, relating to the case of Madame 
Adeline Ducroz : 

I am not good at dates. Years I remember, but not 
months, or weeks, or days. It was in the year 1867 that I 
was engaged to nurse an English lady in Paris, Madame 
Adeline Ducroz, who was afflicted with the vice of many 
English ladies, a passion for drinking too much. Not wine. 
Spirits. I have nursed other patients, sufiering from the 
same malady, and all of them, I am delighted to say, 
foreigners. 

“ Madame Ducroz expected to become a mother, which 
was bad for her and for the unborn child. 

I am not good at names, as well as dates ; I have had 
to do with so many. But I remember, in Paris, two names 
in this case. One is the name of the patient, Madame 
Ducroz, the other is the name of her gentleman friend, M. 
Julius Clifford. He was a compatriot of the lady, like her 
an English subject. 

''She was an encumbrance to him. He told me she 
followed him about, and would not leave him. He was 
the victim, not she. But he wished to be kind to her — O, 
yes, he wished her to be happy. Not with him, with some 
one else. 


154 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


'' ^ She is unreasonable/ he said to me. ' She is violent 
She lies when she speaks. She is under the delusion thaj 
I promised to marry her. It is too ridiculous. I am 
gentleman, and she has only herself to blame.’ 

I asked no questions. It was not for me to do so. H 
was for me to perform the duties for which I was engaged 
I performed them faithfully, and carried out my instruc- 
tions. 

For instance : 

‘ She can have whatever she asks for. She loves tl 
drink. Indulge her. Here is money ! ’ 

“ He was generous, M. Clifford, and rich. I say I per- 
formed my duties faithfully, but it did not belong to mJJ 
duties to make her mad. She implored for drink. I woulfl 
not give it to her, only a little by the doctor s instructiflB 
It was the doctor’s instructions I carried out. I forget th| 
doctor s name. 

‘‘ It is not for me to declare whether the gentleB 
spoke true or false in what he told me about his lady. 
have my ideas, that is all. 

“No, I would not give her brandy. She producrf 
money, and said : 

‘ ‘ Madame Pau, Madame Pau, I am perishing, li 
dying ! Bring me one little bottle ! ” 

“ I refused. I would not. 

“ But there were others about her who did what I re- 
fused to do. Patients suffering from Madame Pau s maladj 
are very cunning. She bribed servants to get her what shi 
wanted, and I found the empty bottles about the room. 
She drank herself delirious. It was deplorable to see her. 
It made me weep. 

“ I spoke to her like a mother ; I advised her for her 
good ; she made promises ; she did not keep them. It is a 
mania ; they have not the strength to resist. 

“ I informed M. Clifford. He said, 

“ ‘ What can I do ? She is not to be depended upon for 
one moment, not for one single moment. She deceives you 
as she deceived me. She is headstrong, she is ungovern- 
able. It shall not be said I am not kind to her. Let her 
have all she wants.’ 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


155 


“ I suggested that lie should see and remonstrate with 
her. He would not. He had done with her, he said. So 
much money he would spend upon her ; then he would 
shake himself free. 

He did not remain in Paris all the time. He went to 
England. And came back again. This happened three, 
four times. Once he said to me, with an air of gloom, 

' All this trouble would be over if she were not to re- 
cover.’ 

“ The sentiment was disagreeable to me ; I expressed 
myself. He replied, 

'' ' Can I help it if she is well or ill ? It is in her own 
hands.’ 

'' A child was born, a beautiful little girl. Madame 
Ducroz wept over her, caressed her, adored her. Some- 
times she said, 

'''She is my guardian angel.’ Sometimes, 'She is my 
curse.’ 

" All this time we did not know whether she would get 
well or die. She had great strength, or she could not have 
lasted so long. To-day the doctor said one thing, to-mor- 
row he said another. The child, too. Now she was well, 
now she was ill. M. Clifford made inquiries about her. 

" ' She is beautiful,’ I said. ' She is adorable. Will you 
not come and see her ? ” 

"No, he would not, nor would he permit me to bring 
the infant to him. It came into my mind, ' Has M. Clif- 
ford a heart ? ’ 

" The child sickened ; there was danger. Madame 
Ducroz was alarmed. She allowed herself to be persuaded. 
For the child’s sake she would place herself in the care of a 
skilful man who kept an establishment for the cure of such 
as she. She signed a paper and was taken away. 

" M. Clifford paid all the charges. If he did not have a 
heart, he had a purse. He dismissed me, and paid me 
liberally. 

" ' Have I not done everything in my power ? ’ he asked. 

" ' Everything, monsieur,’ I said. 

" ‘ Could any gentleman have done more ? ’ he asked. 


156 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


^ No, monsieur, no,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Speak always well of me/ he said. 

But I speak as I feel. From a little child I spoke, 
always the truth. It is not always wise, I know it but 
when one has a conscience one does not stop to consider. 

“ It is your wish that I should say something of Madame 
Ducroz’s nature. There was good in it, much good, but 
she had no control. She was affectionate, she was pas- 
sionate. She spoke softly, she spoke loudly. She could 
caress, she could scratch. Am I condemning her ? No, a 
thousand times no. Women are not little kittens. They 
have reason, they have sensibility, they have feelings. Do 
all gentlemen think so ? No. They do us not justice ; but 
they are stronger than we. 

“M. Clifford told me one story; Madame Ducroz told 
me another. Which was I to believe ? Or, was it neces- 
sary for me to believe one or the other ? I was not their , 
judge ; I was a nurse engaged for certain duties; but both 
showed anxiety that I should pronounce judgment. It 
was not for me, no, it was not for me. To myself I said, 

‘ It is not a new story. It will end like the others. M. 
Clifford will go back to society, Madame Ducroz will go 
back to society. They will meet, and shrug their shoulders 
or laugh in each other’s face. There is a song: ‘We loved, 
we parted. You were all to me, you are nothing to me.’ 
We Frenchwomen have sentiment, but some of us learn to 
know the world. It is seldom that Englishwomen do. 

“ The judgment I formed of the end of the story was 
wrong. It was, after all, different from the others. 

“Madame Ducroz has feelings. They were outraged. 
She said to M. Clifford, before I was engaged to attend her, 
that she would be revenged, that she would revenge her- 
self. She repeated this in her delirium. That was his 
fear. M. Clife)rd was very proud, and he was a coward. 

I do not blame him. I do not blame her. It is well that 
some false lovers should be made to shake in their shoes, 
should be made to suffer. When a woman talies the law 
in her own hands, it is bad for the man. M. Clifford knew 
this. He had read our newspapers, and Madame Ducroz 
not being a little kitten^ he was afraid of her. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


157 


I bade M. Clifford adieu, and I saw him no more for 
three years. I will not be exact ; it may be more, it may 
be less. I have only my memory, and it is not always 
good. But three years will do. 

I met him in Paris. He looked at me, colored, and 
went on. My way was his; I followed him because of 
that. I could not help thinking of Madame Ducroz. 

He turned, fixed his eyes upon me, drew himself up 
proudly. 

‘ Why do you follow me ? ’ he asked. 

' Monsieur is mistaken,’ I said. • It is the road I am 
going.’ 

“ He did not believe me. There are gentlemen who tell 
you so without speaking, who are suspicious of everything 
and everybody. M. Clifford is one. 

‘ Say what you have to say,’ he said, ' and begone.’ 
But though he spoke haughtily he took out his purse. He 
w^as more eloquent and gracious with his money than with 
his tongue. 

‘ As monsieur permits me to speak,’ I said, ' I may be 
allowed to inquire after the welfare of Madame Ducroz.’ 

" She is dead,’ he said. 

^ Alas ! ’ I cried. ' Poor lady, to die so young ! ’ 

‘ Do not make me a scene in the street,’ he said, and 
he looked around in fear that anybody should hear, and put 
some money into my hand. 

And the child, monsieur ? ’ I asked, after I had 
thanked him. ‘ The sweet infant ? ’ 

‘ Is dead,’ he replied. ‘ That is all you want to know ?’ 

" ‘ It is all, monsieur,’ I said. 

‘ Oblige me,’ he said, " if you meet me again, in Paris 
or elsewhere, by regarding me as a stranger. You have 
been paid for the services you rendered.’ 

He called a carriage, and drove away. 

'' ‘ Monsieur Clifford,’ I thought, as I walked on, ' is out 
of his trouble. What he wished for has happened.’ 

; It made me sad, the end of Madame Ducroz and her 
’ sweet child, both so beautiful and unfortunate. 

“ It was perhaps one year, it was perhaps two years after 


158 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


this meeting with M. Clifford in the streets of Paris that T 
was engaged as nurse in the south of France. It was a 
hard case. For two months I was confined to the house, 
day and night, and when my service was terminated I gave 
myself a holiday before returning to Paris. I travelled and 
enjoyed myself, having saved a Rttle money. 

“ I arrived at a town near the sea. The day was Sun- 
day, and all the people were in the sunshine, and again in the 
evening when the stars were out. A poor woman, almost 
in rags, passed me, walking unsteadily. I just saw her face, 
and 1 ran after her, in amazement. Was it the ghost of 
Madame Ducroz I had seen ? 

I seized her arm ; I looked at her more closely. She 
moaned. 

' Let me go. I have done no harm ? ’ 

‘‘ I should have doubted my senses if I had not heard 
her voice. Even then I could not be sure. Had not M. 
Clifford told me that Madame Ducroz was dead ? Where- 
fore the lie if this poor woman writhing in my arms was 
she ? 

Her face was changed, but still beautiful. I describe 
her rags, her condition in one word — destitution. But still 
another word — misery. 

‘‘ " Madame Ducroz !’ I said to her, in a low voice. 

‘‘ She looked at me, trembled, and made no resistance. 

‘‘ Again I said, ‘ Madame Ducroz !’ 

“ All she said was, ‘ It is my name. Be satisfied, and 
let me go. I have done no harm T 

‘ Do you not remember me V I said. ‘ The woman who 
nursed you in Paris when your baby was bom V 

“ ‘ My baby !’ she moaned. ' I am seeking her. Do not 
detain me. I must find her, I must find her.* Listen. You 
will hear her calling to me !* 

“ I heard no voice. But I saw what filled my heart 
with pity. A poor crazed sister in want and misery. I 
slipped a franc into her hand. Her fingers tightened upon 
it. She laughed — the laugh of one who was not in her 
right mind. 

Suddenly she cried, ‘Look behind you !* 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


159 


I loosened my grasp, and looked as she bade me. In 
my amazement I thought a spirit might be standing at my 
elbow, but I was startled by no such vision. Turning to 
Madame Ducroz, I found she had vanished. She had tricked 
me to escape. A shadow could not have glided away more 
enoiselessly. 

I sought her till near midnight, but saw nothing of 
her. I asked questions of people who could not give me 
satisfactory answers. Had it not been that I held her in 
my arms and my franc was gone, I should have believed 
that I was dreaming. But it was not a dream ; I am ready 
to swear it. I never saw Madame Ducroz again, nor have I 
heard anything of her. This is a true statement. 

^^(Signed) MATHILDE PAU." 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Madame Pau,” said Mr. Barlow, took genuine pleasure 
in putting her statement in dramatic form, after the fashion 
of her countrywomen. That, however, is not the cause of 
part of her statement being false and part of it true. 
Her desire was to place herself in an entirely favorable 
light. As to her description of her treatment of Adeline 
Ducroz in Paris she has been very careful to wash herself 
w^hite. The truth of those wretched weeks is told in the 
communications to Mrs. Kennedy received from Miss 
Ducroz. M rs. Kennedy believes this ; so do I. There is 
a serious discrepancy in the two versions, and it is this that 
leads me to doubt Madame Pau’s veracity when she speaks 
of the conversations between her and Mr. Clifford. Sift- 
ing the statement carefully, I come to these conclusions. 
Madame Pau being nurse to Miss Ducroz : true. Her 
refusal to obtain drink for her patient : false. Her conversa- 
tions and interviews with Mr. Clifford during the time she 
was nursing Miss Ducroz : highly colored, or entirely false. 
Her meeting Mr. Clifford accidentally in Paris some three years 
afterwards : true. Her meeting Miss Ducroz in the South 


160 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


of France a year or two after that : true in the main. Her 
bestowal of charity : a fiction. The important feature in 
the statement is the establishment of the fact that Miss 
Ducroz was living some years after she ceased correspond- 
ing with Mrs. Kennedy, and there appears to be little doubt 
that she was living in misery and destitution. Now, it is 
my opinion, and Mrs. Kennedy is even stronger in this 
belief than myself, that the child — a girl, remember — also 
lived, and that the fiction of its being dead was invented 
for the purpose of putting an end to the trouble between 
Mr. Clifford and the poor lady he betrayed. Living, and 
acknowledged, she might have been used as a thorn in his 
side. Much more convenient to have her taken away and 
brought up under another name, and after a time perhaps 
lost sight of altogether. But this could not have been 
done without accomplices, and the question is who were 
these accomplices and the precise parts they played in 
the drama. I will finish with Mrs. Kennedy up to period 
of her departure from the United States. The statement 
made by Madame Pau inspired Mrs. Kennedy with such 
distrust of the woman that she was seriously considering 
whether she should dispense with her services and obtain 
another nurse for her husband, when an event occurred 
which saved her the trouble of definite action. Mr. Ken- 
nedy died, and Mrs. Kennedy was alone. Reflection con- 
vinced her that it would serve no good end to make an 
enemy of Madame Pau, or to challenge her veracity. Far 
better to part friends. If she had concealed or injuriously 
misrepresented anything, the truth, supposing it could not 
be established by other means, might, through her cupidity, 
be extracted from her in the future ; for almost immedi- 
ately upon her husband's death Mrs. Kennedy had resolved 
upon a certain course of action. She was comparatively a 
rich woman ; her husband s property had increased greatly 
in value, and advantageous offers were made to her for its 
purchase. There was nothing to detain her in America ; 
the lonely life before her was not a tempting prospect; and 
what she had learned from Madame Pau revived her in- 
terest in her adopted daughter. She burnt with indigna- 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


161 


tion against Mr. Clifford and she was impressed with the 
conviction that both Adeline Ducroz and the child were 
still living. What more righteous task could she set her- 
self than to come back to England, after the realization of 
her property and endeavor to find them ? She had no 
object in life ; here was one to her hand ; and if, in the 
carrying of it out she could punish Mr. Clifford for the foul 
wrong he had perpetrated, all the greater would be her 
satisfaction. Now you know who my client is.'’ 

Mrs. Kennedy herself,” I said. 

'' Exactly. Mrs. Kennedy herself.” 

'' Has she accomplished the first part of her task ? Is 
Miss Ducroz living, and has she discovered her ? ” 

“ At the present moment,” said Mr. Barlow, '' I am not 
at liberty to answer both of your questions. The first I 
can. Miss Ducroz lives.” 

That will be news for Mr. Haldane,” I said. I suppose 
I may make use of it.” 

“ I see no objection. And now, Millington, take this 
into consideration; you have been so interested in the 
unwinding of the story that I shouldn’t wonder if it has 
escaped you. Miss Ducroz is in the land of the living, and 
also, for a certainty, Mr. Julius Clifford. That being the 
case, are they or are they not man and wife according to 
the law of this country ? ” 

I gave a long, low whistle, and said, ‘^It certainly 
escaped me.” 

"‘It opens up issues, you see. There may be grave 
consequences hanging to it. I have stated my opinion, that 
Mr Haldane and Mr. Clifford are one and the same person. 
I want this proved, and proved soon.” 

How can it be done ? ” 

'Ht is a simple matter. Rachel Diprose, your son’s 
sweetheart is Miss Haldane’s confidential maid ” 

"‘Good God!” I cried, starting up in excitement at the 
mention of Miss Haldane’s name, and at the thought that 
she would be involved in her father’s exposure and disgrace. 
That I should be instrumental in bringing shame upon one 
so sweetand charitable presented itself to me as indescribably 


162 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


base and treacherous. Then, there was my boy, George. His 
happiness might bo wrecked through me, for Rachel Diprose 
would be sure to take her young lady’s side, and would look 
upon me and all belonging to me with abhorrence. 

'' Don’t lose your head, Millington,” said Mr. Barlow. ‘‘ I 
know what you’re thinking of, but you’re wrong, my lad. 
Make up your mind to more than one thing. First, that this 
affair’s got to be carried through. Second, that I’d have 
carried it through to a certainty if you hadn’t been in it. 
It might have taken me a week longer, but that’s the extent. 
I’m a clumsy dog at a scent, aren’t I ? Did you ever know 
me beaten yet? Third, that being in it, you can act the 
part of a friend to those you care for, and soften the blow 
that’s got to fall on tender shoulders. I’m talking sense, 
Millington, my lad. If I hadn’t taken on my commission, 
and you hadn’t taken on yours, they’d have drifted into 
worse hands than ours. And we can always throw up if we 
want to ; but it won’t be so good for the other parties — 
remember that. Now are you steady ? Shall I go on ?” 

'' Yes,” I said. 

Right you are. To commence again. Rachel Dip- 
rose, your son’s sweetheart, is Miss Haldane’s confidential 
maid. It’s ten to one she’s got an album, and it’s longer 
odds that there’s a portrait of George in it, and two or 
three of herself, and portraits of lots of her relations, near 
and distant, from babies in little skirts holding on to their 
fat little toes to grandfather and grandmother, who’d like 
to be their own grand-children and commence life all over 
again. I want the loan of that album for just one day. 
You write to her for it, and say you’re going to send her in 
its place a spick and span new one, with gilt edges, bound 
in morocco, to commence housekeeping with. She’ll pack 
it up instanter, and you’ll receive it by following post.” 
What will you do with it when you’ve got it ? ” 

That’s my business, and it’s my business to give it 
you back the day after you hand it to me, without a 
picture missing, and in company of that spick and span 
new album I’ve spoken of. Will you do as much for me ? ’ 
Yes, I will,” I replied. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


168 


'' Write to-night/’ said Mr. Barlow. Instead of re- 
turning the album through the post you can take it back, 
when you go to Chudleigh Park to give Mr. Haldane some 
information about Adeline Ducroz that will interest him. 
I should advise you to wait three or four days before you 
do this ; it will be time enough. There are just one or two 
things left to say that we may as well get through. When 
Mr. Haldane came to us years ago about some threatening 
letters he, or a friend of his, had received, he paid, through 
us, a fairish sum of money to hush up a matter he kept to 
himself. What occurs to me now is that that matter had 
some connection with the commissions upon which you and 
I are at present engaged. If so, the party who threatened 
him or his friend must have been an agent employed by 
Mr. Clifford at the time Adeline Ducroz was in Paris. That 
looks remarkably like a conspiracy, and something more 
may come out of it. Then, again, I made a remark to you 
last night about Miss Haldane’s age. Eighteen, you said ? 

'' I asked George this morning, and he said that is her 
age. He knows it through his sweetheart.” 

That,” remarked Mr. Barlow, “ would be the age of 
Adeline Ducroz’s daughter if she were alive this day. 
Upon your next visit to Chudleigh Park you might have a 
chat with some of the villagers, and learn from them when 
Mrs. Haldane was married, and how long ago it is since 
she died. They are sure to know all about a domestic 
affair of that kind.” Mr. Barlow looked at his watch. It’s 
past six. Come home with me and have a cup of tea. 
Mrs. Barlow will be glad to see you. George won’t expect 
you home before eight, and you can get back by that 
time.” 

George opened the door for me in his shirt sleeves. 
That son of mine never had an idle hour. He had turned 
a room in the house into a workshop, and there, when he 
had nothing else to claim his attention, he was always to 
be found, making all sorts of things for future housekeeping 
with which he intended one day to surprise his Rachel. 
He had just put the finishing touches to a work-table for 
his little wife that was to be with drawers and flaps, and 


164 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


receptacles for everything a woman needed in the way of 
needlework. I don’t know how many weelis he had been 
employed upon this table in his leisure time, and it was a 
pleasure to see the pride he took in it, and to see him 
handle it as if it were a living thing, with sense and feeling. 
In his workshop were a number of other useful and orna- 
mental articles, brackets, small cupboards to hang on the 
walls, a corner cabinet, fitted with glass and shelves, and I 
don’t know what all. 

“ It’s the next best thing to having Rachel with me,” he 
said, working for her and thinking of her. Have you 
heard any news of that Honoria girl ? 

“ None, George.” 

He laughed when I told him I was going to write to 
Rachel to send me her album, and that Mr. Barlow intended 
to present her with a new one. 

She’ll wonder what you want it for,” he said. '' The 
new one will come in handy for the house. Every little 
helps.” 

In due time the album arrived, with a pretty note from 
Rachel, saying she supposed I wanted to make the acquaint- 
ance of all her relations before she and George came togethei*. 
She enclosed a list of the portraits, with tlie family names 
and ages, nephews, nieces, aunts and uncles, and grand- 
mothers and grandfathers, just as Mr. Barlow had said 
there would be. 

'' Take the greatest care ^ of it,” said Rachel in her 
note. “ There are portraits in it I wouldn’t lose for the 
world.” 

“That is one of them,” said George, as we looked at the 
portrait of Rachel’s young mistress. “ Next to Rachel’s it 
is the sweetest face I have ever seen.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

I GAVE the album to Mr. Barlow, and the following day he 
returned it to me in company with a new album, much 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


165 


handsomer than I expected he would purchase, requesting 
me to forward it on to Rachel Diprose, with all kinds of 
good wishes and a hope that he would soon have the 
pleasure of making her acquaintance. 

‘‘ As I have obliged you, Barlow,’’ I said, perhaps you 
will oblige me now by telling me what you wanted the 
album for.” 

He cocked his eye at me knowingly. You don’t mean 
to say you don’t know, Millington ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t,” I replied. 

“ You’ve grown stale,” he said, out of training. Well, 
you’re none the worse for it. When I asked for the loan 
of this album I guessed that there would be other portraits 
in it than the portraits of pretty Rachel’s relations. As a 
confidential servant she would be presented, from time to 
time, with portraits of her fellow-servants at the hall, and 
very likely, as a mark of approval, with the likenesses of 
the family she is living with. Such as the likeness of 
Miss Haldane, whose Christian name you said was ” 

'' Agnes.” 

Exactly. Agnes. This is the young lady, isn’t it ? ” 

Yes, that is Miss Haldane’s portrait.” 

'' To judge by her looks, a born lady. But looks are 
deceptive. Then I reckoned upon finding the likeness of 
Mr. Haldane ; and here it is, if I don’t mistake.” 

I had not given him the list which Rachel had sent 
me ; he had to guess at the pictures, and had done so cor- 
rectly. 

That is Mr. Haldane’s portrait,” I said. 

After we joined forces, Millington,” continued Mr. 
Barlow, and I had heard what you had to disclose, and 
you had heard what I had to disclose, there seemed to me 
to be one point it was necessary to establish without delaj^, 
and that was whether Mr. Haldane and Mr. Julius Clifford 
were one and the same person. I had my suspicions, and I 
made no secret of them to you, but said I to myself, ' Best 
make sure, Barlow.’ So I carefully removed from the 
album the likenesses of Mr. and Miss Haldane, and mixing 
them up with a hundred others, took them to my client in 


166 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


a loose heap. ' Look through these likenesses/ I said to 
her, ' and see if there is anybody you know among them. 

I interrupted Mr. Barlow by asking whether he thought 
it was quite fair to use Rachels album for such a purpose, 
and whether it was not very much like setting a trap for 
the girl — making her, as it were, an accomplice with us 
against the family she was serving ? ’’ 

'' Don’t worry about that,” he said. '' Rachel will never 
know anything about it unless you tell her. In my opinion 
it is quite fair ; and as to setting a trap for her, that is all 
nonsense. I provided a safeguard. My client was about 
to look through the likenesses when 1 laid my hand on them. 

‘ I am compelled/ I said to her, ' to make one stipulation. 
Some of these likenesses don’t belong to me, and have 
been lent to me by a person you are not acquainted with. 
You must promise if you recognize any of them not to ask 
me where I obtained them.’ Does that satisfy you, 
Millington ? ” 

'' I suppose it must,” I replied, the mischief being 
done.” 

To speak the honest truth, I was in a nervous state to 
hear the end of his manoeuvre. 

‘'My client gave me the promise, and then proceeded 
to examine the pictures. She tossed one after another aside, 
came to the likeness of Mr. Haldane,, and stopped at once. 
She changed color, and in other ways was visibly agitated. 
‘When and where was this likeness taken?’ she asked, 
‘ I don’t know/ I answered, and I told her there and then 
that I was not at liberty to answer any questions concern- 
ing it. ‘ But,’ said she, ‘ you are acting as my paid agent 
to discover Mr. Julius Clifiord for me.’ I admitted it. 
‘ This/ she said, pointing to Mr. Haldane’s likeness, ‘is the 
likeness of the villain we are searching for.’ ‘ Oblige me,’ I 
said, ‘ by looking through the other pictures and telling me 
whether you recognize any one else.’ She examined them 
all carefully, paused half a moment when she came to Miss 
Haldane’s likeness, put it with the others, and finished her 
task. Mr. Haldane’s likeness was the only one she recog- 
nized. I pressed her closely about it, and asked her if she 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


167 


was sure that she was not mistaken. ' I will swear to the 
likeness,' she said. I tied all the portraits together and 

I took possession of them. ^ You must leave the case entirely 
!i in my hands,' I said, ^if you continue to employ me. You 
i; can see that I have not been idle, and that I am making 
l| progress, but as regards these portraits, I am not exactly 

II a free agent.' She pressed me then harder than I had 
' pressed her, but I stood my ground, and would give her 

no further satisfaction, saying that she must trust me en- 
tirely, or not at all. After a long discussion she gave way, 
and said she hoped I would deal honestly by her. And 
that is how the matter stands at present. Beyond all 
I doubt, Mr. Haldane is the man who betrayed Adeline 
I Ducroz. The question is now, what are we going to 
do?" 

I could not answer him ; I had come to a knot, and 
could not untie it. When I joined forces with Mr. Barlow, 
I had no idea that it would lead so straight to what was 
now disclosed. Mr. Barlow's client hoped that he would 
deal honestly by her ; Mr. Haldane certainly hoped that I 
would deal honestly by him. When I undertook his com- 
mission, it was my intention to do so; otherwise I should 
have- thrown it up without hesitation ; but in the light of 
the strange disclosures that had been made, could I continue 
to do so ? This was the perplexing phase of the matter 
which came slowly to my mind during the silence that 
ensued after Mr. Barlow's question. 

''I wish to heaven," I said, fretfully and impatiently, 
'' that Mr. Haldane had never written to me to come to 
Chudleigh Park." 

'' What is done," observed Mr. Barlow, with cheap 
wisdom, can’t be undone." 

Not much comfort in that," I said, not over amiably. 
I was vexed with myself, vexed with him, vexed with all 
the world. '' Nor is it a very original remark." 

'' Admitted," said Mr. Barlow, whose self-possession 
seldom deserted him, but it is not to be despised because 
of its want of originality. It is a rare gift, Millington, 
originality, and I don't lay claim to it. Things run pretty 


168 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


much in grooves, as at this very moment with you and me.” 

“ Don’t be mysterious, Barlow,” I said, quite disposed to 
lash myself into conspicuous ill-humor. Never in my 
life have I been mixed up in such an affair as this. Why 
on earth did I allow myself to be dragged into it ? If it 
wasn’t for George ” 

Exactly,” said Mr. Barlow. If it wasn’t for George. 
It was in the first instance your affection for that good 
fellow that led you into it. But many a man starts on a 
journey, and pulls up on the road, resolving to turn back. 
I will explain what I meant when I said that things with 
you and me are running in the same groove. Neither of us 
anticipated the discoveries that have been made, and it is as 
clear to me as it is to you that we cannot go on working 
together. The interests involved are too conflicting. Be- 
tween your client and mine exists a deadly enmity, and, as 
honest men, we cannot serve them both. One of us must 
resign. Which one ? ” 

I was immensely relieved ; he had shown me the way 
out of my difficulty. Let it be me,” I said. 

Mr. Barlow concurred. '' I should have suggested it if 
you hadn’t. You see, old friend, I took the business up 
because I happen to be in the business ; you took it up 
because you had a personal interest in it, the sweetheart- 
ing of George and Rachel. Go to Chudleigh Park, and 
make Mr. Haldane acquainted with what you know, 
through me, of Adeline Ducroz. Say that you learnt the 
particulars through a third party, and if he presses you to 
name this third party put it on to me to answer him. You 
will have a difficult conversation with him, according to 
my reckoning ; he will want to know more than you are 
warranted to disclose, but you will judge how far you 
ought to go in the way of satisfying him. How does this 
strike you ? ” 

'' It is all right, and, Barlow, it is a wonderful relief to 
me. I am not fit for business any longer ; I have grown 
too fond of my ease, of my idle life, of my pipe, and my 
birds, and my garden.” 

Happy man ! ” said Mr. Barlow, contemplatively. I 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


169 


look forward to the time when I shall enjoy the same, with 
the addition of pen, ink, and paper, to immortalize my 
name. Now ^o and get rid of your burden.” 

There is just one thing I would ask,” I said. 

Although I have done with the affair I cannot cease 
to have an interest in it. Let me know from time to time 
how you get along.” 

In confidence,” said Mr. Barlow, I will keep nothing 
from you. And if you find Honoria I shall be glad if you 
will reciprocate.” 

''Confidence for confidence,” I said, gaily; with the 
weight off my shoulders I really felt quite young ; " every 
bit of information that comes to me shall be at your dis- 
posal. Good day, old fellow.” 

" Good day,” said Mr. Barlow. " Love to George and 
Rachel.” 

When I got into the streets, I \valked along briskly, 
humming a favorite air ; I seemed to have got rid of the 
nightmare. My days were once more my own, or would be 
after my interview with Mr. John Haldane, for whom, 
knowing him now to be Julius Clifford, I would not have 
continued to work for any consideration. But had it not 
been for the prompt suggestion of Mr. Barlow, I might have 
taken a longer time to make up my mind. I vras thankful 
indeed that he had decided for me so quickly. When I 
reached home I wrote a note to Mr. Haldane, intimating 
that he might expect to see me at the Hall to-morrow after 
noon, and my letter being posted I lit my pipe, and cleaned 
the cages of my birds, who had grown accustomed to tobacco 
smoke, and gave them a treat in the shape of a bit of fresh 
grounsel. Buying this of a wobegone individual, with wild 
eyes, stubbly face, clothes in rags, and naked feet, caused me 
to reflect that of all the miserable wretches on the face of 
the earth, the men who sell grounsel are the most wretched. 
I asked myself the reason why, and was not discomposed 
because I could not find an answer. The reflection, and the 
question, and the attending to my birds, and the undisturbed 
pipe I was enjoying, convinced me that I had beaten a 
healthy retreat to pleasanter roads than I had been travel- 


170 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


ling since my first arrival at Chudleigh Park. The only 
comfort that visit had brought me was that I had made the 
acqaintance of Rachel Diprose, and had satisfied myself that 
she would make George a good wife. I’ll pay for a peal 
of bells,” thought I as I went to bed, when the wedding 
comes off*/’ 


CHAPTER XXL 

The landlord of the Brindled Cow ” was overjoyed, or 
pretended to be, at seeing me. 

''You’re just like an old friend,” said he, "and you re 
going to be treated like one whenever you put up at the 
* Brindled Cow.’ ” 

This meant probably a slight increase in his charges, 
but I met his cordiality in reciprocal fashion, and said that 
of all the country places I had ever visited Chudleigh was 
the pleasantest, and of all the hotels in which I had eaten 
and slept the " Brindled Cow ” ranked A No. 1. 

" It’s got a name, has the ' Brindled Cow,’ ” said the 
landlord, " and I’ll defy you or any other man to find a 
better, or a jucier, or a better-cooked joint than you’ll 
always find on my table. Vegetables fresh cut for dinner 
out of my own garden ; fruit likewise ; and tastier cucum- 
bers you’ll not meet with than my frame grows. To say 
nothing,” he added, " of my wine-cellar.” 

I acquiesced without any display of hypocrisy, for, 
though but a poor judge of wine, his was certainly the best 
I had ever drank. 

" To say nothing,” I repeated after him, " of the wine- 
cellar,” intending the repetition as a mark of appreciation, 
in which sense he accepted it. 

" Would you believe,” he said, " that in my wine-cellar 
there’s wine bought by my father when he was a young 
man ? ” 

" You don’t say so ?” I exclaimed. 

" I do. There’s port, and Maderia, and sherry, that 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


171 


thick with cobwebs and fungus that it seems .a sacrilege to 
touch the bottles. It’s only done on rare occasions. There 
are two or three committees that come down regularly so 
many times a year to dine with me, and they order before- 
hand the best I’ve got. Some of them are old men who 
knew my father, and remember when some of the wine 
was bought, and by the way they lift the bottles and look 
at them and handle them you’d think they were pet chil- 
dren they can’t make enough of. I never touch a glass 
myself at my own expense, but they always call me in to 
drink their healths, and when they’re here I look forward 
to it.” 

“They have to pay something for that wine,” I re- 
marked. 

“ As a matter of course,” said the landlord. “ It goes 
up every year. If you put by money, you get interest ; 
likewise with wine. When they call for the bill I point 
it out to them. Do they grumble ? Not a bit. ' It’s 
nothing but what’s right, landlord,’ they say. ‘ We’re glad 
to pay the extra ; glad to be here to pay it.’ Why are 
they glad ? I ask you, Mr. Millington, why are they glad ? 
Ah, you haven’t got an answer handy. I’ll tell you. Be- 
cause it doesn’t come out of their pockets. They’re on 
road committees and railway committees, and they get so 
many guineas a day when they come to inspect and inquire 
and report, and all expenses paid. Some of us would like 
to be on that job, wouldn’t we ? It isn’t much they in- 
spect, and it isn’t much they inquire, but I’ve heard tell 
that their reports cover any number of pages. It would 
be dry work if wasn’t for my cellar.” 

“A good listener is always sure of favor from the man 
who talks, and I was no exception to the rule, the landlord 
regarding me with fervor, tinged, no doubt, with calcula- 
tion as to how much he would make out of me. I enquired 
after Simpson, and was informed that he was in London. 
This rather roused my curiosity, as Simpson had pledged 
himself to spend an evening with me there on the first op- 
portunity. However, I did not mention this to the land- 
lord, but said a few words to the effect that Simpson was a 


172 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


bustling, pushing man who seemed to know his way about. 

“ You may say that,’’ assented the landlord. '' If he 
doesn’t know the ropes I should like to see the man who does.’' 

Having arranged to dine at the Brindled Cow,” and 
sleep there that night, I proceeded to the Hall. There I 
received the news that Mr. Haldane was also in London, 
which accounted for Simpson’s absence from Chudleigh. 
As I was making my inquiry and listening to the answer 
a solemn-looking individual presented himself, who I was 
afterwards informed was the house steward. He asked my 
business and name, and upon my informing him that I had 
written to Mr. Haldane and had come down on purpose to 
see him, said that he was instructed to request me, in case 
I arrived at the Hall while Mr. Haldane was away, to re- 
main in Chudleigh until Mr, Haldane returned or communi- 
cated with me. I had no objection; I wanted to get the 
business over as soon as possible, and not have the trouble 
of another journey to Chudleigh Park. Before leaving the 
Hall I contrived to see Rachel, whose manner was not as 
sparkling as usual, although she received me with affection. 

I have brought your album back,” I said, and the 
new one, a present from a friend. It is at the " Brindled 
Cow.’ Perhaps you will come and fetch it this evening ; 
then we can have a chat.” 

'' Yes, I will,” said Rachel, but I thought it was you 
who was going to make me a present of the new album.” 

A friend was with me when it arrived,” I replied 
evasively, “ and he asked me to let him buy it instead of 
me.” 

Is he George’s friend as well as yours ? ” asked Rachel. 

Yes ; he has known George since he was a child, and 
he wants to know George’s sweetheart, and to slip into her 
good graces.” 

This satisfied Rachel, and she said nothing more on the 
subject. 

“ My young lady would like to see you, I think,” she 
said. I will run up and ask her.” 

She left me and returned with the message that Miss 
Haldane would be pleased to see me. Upon entering the 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


173 


young lady’s room I noticed, also, a change in her manner i 
there was trouble in her face, and I was sorry to see it. 
My present visit to the Hall had occupied only a few 
I minutes, but there seemed to be a change in the whole aui 
' of the place. It was all life and animation on my previous 
visits, but now the light appeared to have died out of it. 

After all,” thought I, thinking of my own little home in 
Shepherd’s Bush, ‘'give me a cozy snuggery, with a few 
rooms in it, for real happiness and comfort. If I had to 
i live in a great mansion like this I should feel like a man in 
a wilderness.” I kept my thoughts to myself, and Miss 
i Haldane kept hers ; none the less did I sympathize with 
her. 

" I was going to write to you, Mr. Millington,” she said, 
" and I am glad you have come. Can you tell me anything 
about Honoria ? ” 

" No,” I replied. " I have seen and heard nothing of 
iher. London is a vast city. Miss Haldane ; one may easily 

( lose oneself there.” 

" I am greatly distressed about her,” said Miss Haldane. 

. ' She sent me a strange letter the day before yesterday, and 
|[ am afraid to think what will become of her, without a home 
friends. Here is what she wrote. I cannot understand 
Lit.” 

She gave me the letter, and I was surprised at the ele- 
i ^ance of the writing. It ran as follows : 

My dear Benefactress, — It would add to my misery if 
k you were to believe that I am ungrateful or unmindful of 
. all you have done for me. and I wudte to beg that you will 
jaot think it is so. As long as I live I shall hold you in 
I grateful remembrance. I have given you a base return 
( tor your kindness ; had I been what you wished me to be, 
la good woman, I could never have repaid you. How much 
less can I ever hope now to do so, being what I am ? You 
will never hear from me again. Forget me. I am not 
worthy to live in your remembrance. But it may happily 
be that I can put you on your guard against one who, I 
Understand, is received in your father’s house as a friend. 


174 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


He was there on your birthday, and on the day I came back 
to the village, and was hunted out of it. His name is 
x\ustin. Believe not a word he says. If he is already your 
friend, let him no longer be so. He is utterly false and 
black-hearted. I, who know him too well, tell you so 
solemnly, and I swear to God I speak the truth. Farewell 
for ever.— HONOR! A." 

In silence I read the letter ; in silence I returned it. 

I can hardly hope,'’ said Miss Haldane, sadly, “ that 
you can give me any clue to this mystery, as it was only 
on my birthday you first came to Chudleigh. May I ask 
if Honoria said anything of this to you ? ” 

She said nothing of it to me,” I replied. 

It was a truthful answer, but I was guiltily conscious j 
that I was practising deception. The conversation we ; 
were having was a private one. Miss Haldane having sent 
Rachel from the room before she gave me the letter to 
read. But how dare I, a man of the world, «’e veal to this 
pure creature the deplorable story of Honoria’s fall ? 

''I am acquainted with no gentleman,” continued Miss 
Haldane, '' of the name of Austin, and he is not received in 
my father’s house as a friend. Poor Honoria must be 
laboring under some delusion ? I am so young and inex- 
perienced, Mr. Millington, that I am at a loss for words to 
express myself, scarcely knowing, indeed, what it is I wish 
to express. I should not have the courage to speak to , 
anyone else as I am speaking to you.” 

I said I was honored by her confidence in me, and that 
1 would endeavor to prove worthy of it — feeling all the 
time I spoke, that, in a certain sense, I was playing a treach- 
erous part towards her. In truth, tlie conflicting views 
that presented themselves to me confused and bewildered 
me, man of the world as I \vas. One of these views was, 
whether it was. not my duty, knowing that her friend and 
her father’s friend, Mr. Louis Redwood, was at the same 
time the villain Austin who had brought Honoria to 
shame, to acquaint her with this fact ? Honoria wished 
to put her benefactress on her guard ; she had failed. I 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


175 


could do so with better effect. Should I shirk the duty ? 
It might be that the saving or the ruin of an innocent and 
confiding girl’s happiness was in my hands. Certain it was 
! that at that moment I was the only person, apart from the 
villain himself, who was in possession of his infamous 
secret. Straight upon these considerations, upon which it 
was impossible for me to come to a swift decision, flashed 
the open question whether the young lady in whose pre- 
sence I stood was the daughter of Adeline Ducroz, whom 
the hapless mother believed to be dead. For the time being 
I set all these matters aside ; I would consider them later 
on. They needed steady reflection, a calm mind, a cool 
judgment ; better to let them bide awhile. 

Mr. Millington,” said Miss Haldane, '' what chance is 
there in London for a girl in poor Honoria’s position ? ” 

She has received a good education, thanks to you,” I 
replied, '' writes a good hand, expresses herself well, and, 
properly dressed, presents more than a decent appearance. 
There are thousands of young girls in London earning a 
fair livelihood in a respectable way. I don’t speak of the 
unfortunate needlewomen who have to slave half the night 
through for the barest pittance, and who are the bound 
bondswomen of grasping sweaters.” 

Grasping sweaters ! ” exclaimed Miss Haldane, in deep 
concern, as though I was introducing to her a species of 
unparalleled monsters. ‘'What kind of creatures are 
those ? 

" Men,” I said, warmly ; it was a theme upon which I 
felt very strongly, " who grow rich by grinding their help- 
less creatures down and driving them to the thin line of 
starvation. I beg your pardon for mentioning them. A 
young girl like Honoria is not likely to fall into their 
clutches. She has too much sense — ” 

" I hope so,” said Miss Haldane, piteously, " with all my 
heart I hope so ! I have always thought London a beauti- 
ful city, but as you speak of it, it is terrible, horrible 1 
And my poor Honoria is there, alone 1 Mr. Millington, I 
can hardly bear to think of it.” 

" Then don’t think of it. Miss Haldane,” I said. " I 


176 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


ought to have known better than to distress you so. If 
Honoria likes, she is safe from the worst side of it. Haber- 
dashers shops, milliners’ shops, and plenty of large ware- 
houses are filled with girls earning enough to keep them. 
Better still, there are the post offices and the telegraph 
offices, always glad to get hold of a well-educated girl, who, 
once she gets a footing there, can earn good wages, and has 
only to respect herself to make others respect her. There 
are plenty of chances. Miss Haldane.” 

‘‘ You malie me so much happier by speaking in that 
way. Honoria is such a girl, I am sure she is.” 

''Then,” I pursued, warming up to my theme, and 
carried away by my desire to lighten Miss Haldane’s heart, 
"a bright, presentable, and clever girl, being in one of 
those situations, makes acquaintances who invite her home, 
and perhaps in one of those homes she makes arrangements 
to live, earning sufficient to pay for board and lodging and 
dress, and putting by a little in the post office savings 
bank. She meets a respectable young man who falls in 
love with her, and it happens over and over again that he 
is as agreeable to her as she is to him. The natural result 
follows. He proposes, she accepts, and they marry, and 
commence a new life which depends only upon themselves 
to turn out happily.” 

" Mr. Millington,” said Miss Haldane sweetly, holding 
out her hand, "you have rendered me a great service. I 
am much easier in my mind about Honoria. Thank you, 
thank you. I am very grateful to you.” 

" You humbug ! ” thought I as, the interview ended, I 
was walking though the lovely park to the "Brindled Cow.” 
" You wretched hypocrite, to buoy Miss Haldane up with 
hopes which you know well will never be realized. As if 
you had the least notion that any such happy future lies 
before Honoria. You could forecast what will become of 
her pretty accurately if you set your mind to it.” 

I did not set my mind to it, my thoughts running upon 
the past, and not upon the future. The singular resembl- 
ance between the lives of Adeline Ducroz and Honoria 
forced itself vividly upon me. Each had been betrayed and 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


177 


deserted, and their betrayers had each played his part 
under a false name. Notwithstanding my determination 
to have no further business dealings with Mr. Haldane, I 
could not but take a deep interest in the ultimate issue of 
the base wrong he had perpetrated ; but it suited me much 
better to be a looker-on in the game of cross purposes, the 
result of which it would take a wiser head than mine to 
foresee. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

For the greater part of the year the village of Chudleigh, 
was a kind of Sleepy Hollow ; it was only upon rare occa- 
sions that it woke up and exhibited symptoms of liveliness 
and hilarity. On my previous visits I had seen it in its 
latter aspect ; on my present visit I saw it in its former. 

It was evening. The cottage doors and windows were 
closed, hermetically sealed as it were ; there were no gossips 
about ; on my walk back to the Brindled Cow I had 
seen but one man, and he seemed to walk with muffled feet. 
There was not a soul in the bar of the public-house; the 
tap room, with its bagatelle table was deserted ; and the 
landlord, a married man with no children, and with a wife 
who spoke with bated breath, would have been doomed to 
a night of apathy and loneliness had it not been for my 
companionship. He accepted with avidity my invitation 
to dinner, and drank his own wine with appreciation. I 
was not sparing of it. Wine is a key that unlocks many a 
human safe, and it was effectual with the landlord of the 
“ Brindled Cow,’" from whom I wished to extract certain 
information. I spoke of the village and of himself in con- 
nection with it, and he regaled me with personal details, 
which I listened to patiently in the expectation that they 
would lead to what I desired to learn from him. He had 
bsen born in the village, as his father and his grandfather 
had been His grandfather had never been out of it. 

Think of that,"" he said] '' A dozen miles from Chud- 
leigh, and the world was a sealed book to him/" 


178 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Happy man ! ” I said. 

‘‘ I don’t agree v.dth you,” said the landlord. A fellow 
might as well be like one of the toads IVe read of that live 
shut up in a rock for a thousand years or more. What’s 
the world for, I should like to know ? What are foreign 
countries for ? What are seas for ? What are ships and 
railroads for ? ’’ 

Ah,” said I, '' there were no such things in your grand- 
father’s days. He lived to a good old age. I’ll be bound.” 

He was a hundred years old on the day he died.” 

There’s an age for you,” I said. 

What was the good of it to him ?” retorted the land- 
lord. A hundred years in this dead and alive place ? How 
would you like it ? ” 

‘‘ Not at all,” I answered frankly. 

‘‘ Give me London,” he said, emptying his glass in one 
gulp. It was his fashion of drinking ; he raised the glass 
to his lips and poured the liquor down his throat. '' Give 
me London.” 

He had an ambition to become the landlord of a pub- 
lic-house in the great city ; but the way he spoke of it such 
a position was as high as any reasonable man could hope 
to obtain. I entered into his humor, and when he had ex- 
hausted his theme I turned the conversation in the direc- 
tion of the family at the Hall. 

'' Can they say as much as you,” I asked. Are they 
as old in the village as yourself ? ” 

‘‘ Not by a long way,” he replied. The present estate 
was bought by Mr. Haldane’^s father. He can’t go beyond 
that. I could go back a good many generations if there 
was anything to be gained by it.” 

The estate,” I remarked, has a history apart from the 
Haldane family.” 

Rather. It dates centuries back. You may read all 
about it in the county book. Queen Elizabeth stopped 
there ; they’ve got the bed she slept in. A very old family 
it was, gone to the dogs many a long j^enr ago. Spent their 
acres right and left. Mr. Haldane’s father was a contract 
man ; made his fortune, bought the whole place up, stock 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


179 


t and block, and settled down there. They give themselves 
airs they’re not entitled to.” 

Good,” thought I ; we are on the road.” 

'' There’s a many here,” continued the landlord, '' as look 
down on them as much as they look down on us ; but 
they’ve got the upper hand. Old families are like old 
wine ; there’s a flavor about them, as a body may say, 
that's wanting in new bottles. The coat-o£-arms made in 
bloody wars — that’s the sort of thing all men must bow 
down to, whatever their politics.” 

''Was Mr. Haldane’s father much liked ?” 

" So so,” said the landlord. " He spent his money free, 
but we didn’t see the color of it. It was spent upon him- 
self and his family and the quality folk he entertained at 
the Hall. He didn’t gain much by it. They wouldn’t ac- 
cept him at his own value, and then he got savage,* and 
there was dull times here all the rest of his life.” 

" Did he have a large family ? ” 

" Three sons and two daughters. They all died young 
except the present Mr. Haldane.” 

" That was the reason, perhaps, of his shutting himself 
up?” 

" It’s a matter of opinion ; we don’t take it that way.” 

" And the father dying, the whole estate passed to the 
gentleman who now owns it ? ” 

" That’s so ; but he died without a will.” 

" That’s strange.” 

" The story goes that the son and the father weren’t 
friendly for some years before the old gentleman’s death. 
Would you think it, to look at him, that Mr. Haldane 
was much of a gay spark ? ” 

"That I should not. He seems too serious and 
grave.” 

" There’s many a man,” said the landlord, with senten- 
tious philosophy, " that carries two faces under one hat. 
That’s my opinion of the master here. I've got my reasons 
for saying so. He’s one man here, and another man 
there.” 

" Here in Chudleigh, do you mean, and there in London? ” 


180 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“ Here in Chudleigh, and there in the world in general, 
London being a goodish bit of the world, so far as pleasure 
goes.’' 

You surprise me,” I said honestly. The worthy land- 
lord was presenting a new view to me. “ Mr. Haldane a 
man of pleasure ? ” 

Don’t you take things for granted,” said the landlord, 
with an air of great wisdom. “ You London chaps are 
smart folk, but you don’t know everything. Why,, there 
was a clergyman I heard of once who preached morality 
that made folk weep ; and all the while he preached he 
was carrying on a gay racket in Paris that made his con- 
gregation’s hair stand on end when they came to know of 
it. It’s being found out that you’ve got to be aware of. 
I’m not preaching morals myself, you understand ? ” 

‘‘*1 understand,” I said, receiving his commonplaces with 
profound conviction, and as though I was in the presence 
of a pliilosopher of rare originality.” 

I’m no better than my neighbors, I dare say, and no 
worse. We’re much of a muchness if the truth was told.” 

You’ve learnt something, at all events, in this quiet 
village.” • 

“ O, but I’ve been in London many a time ; I go twice a 
year, and mean to keep it up. But we was speaking of old 
Mr. Haldane and the will he didn’t leave behind him. The 
Mr. Haldane you know was a wild ’un in his young days, 
and I shouldn’t like to take my oath that he’s reforme 1. 
He kept his father going, I can tell you, with his wild 
doings and the money he spent. Right and left it went — 
it’s in the blood of the Haldane’s, I believe, to be extrava- 
gant enough on their own pleasures. It’s a selfish world. 
There were scenes between the father and son, sometimes 
here, sometimes in other parts. The young rake wasn’t at 
home more than a month or two a year ; he had game to 
fly elsewhere.” 

It’s wonderful,” I said, how these things reach your 
ears.” 

“ They did, somehow. Things float in the air, you know. 
Well, matters came to such a pass that the old gentleman 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


181 


^wore that he would disinherit his son* He travelled back 
bo the Hall in a towering rage, and sent for a lawyer to 
make a new will. Down came the lawyer with quills and 
parchment and blue bag ; but he arrived too late. The old 
I gentleman had worked himself up so that he fell in a fit, 
I and died, after tearing up and burning the will he’d made 
I in favor of his son. Little charred bits of it were found in 
his room. It didn’t make any difference to the son. He 
was the lawful inheritor, and he stepped in and took pos- 
session.” 

''A change for. the better you found it,” I observed. 

Not at all ; there was nothing to be thankful for. For 
a goodish time the new master didn’t show up much at the 
Hall. He spent his money in foreign parts. He could do 
as he pleased, of course, but it didn’t speak well for him 
that he held himself off so. From that day to this he’s done 
nothing for the village to give it a spurt. If anything, it’s 
duller and slower now than when I was a boy. No work- 
shops, no manufactories, no anything. He won’t allow a 
new cottage to be built, he’s that masterful and that jealous 
of everything and everybody.” 

“There must have been gay doings at his wedding,” I 
said, coming to the subject upon wdiich I desired enlight- 
enment. 

“ You’re mistaken again. We knew nothing about his 
marriage from what took place here. We heard that 
he’d married in London, and we looked forward to a 
bit of festivity ; but he took no more notice of us than 
if we were cattle. It was five years afterwards that he 
came back here, with his little daughter. His wife was dead, 
we was told, and not a man among us had ever set eyes 
on her. That wasn’t a proper way to treat us, was it ? ” 

“ It was certainly not a way to win your affection. The 
daughter you speak of is Miss Haldane.” 

“ Yes, God bless her !” said the landlord, with a flash of 
enthusiasm. “ She’s as much like her father as chalk’s like 
cheese ; there’s not a man or woman in the village who has 
an ill word for her, and who wouldn’t be happy to do 
her a service. If she was the reigning lady things would 
be different from what they are.” 


182 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


CHAPTER XXm. 

The information imparted by the landlord did not assist 
me in coming to any definite conclusion as to whether Miss 
Haldane was or was not the daughter of Adeline Ducroz — 
always supposing, of course, that the report of the child’s 
death shortly after her birth, was false, which was an 
assumption at which Mr. Barlow’s client appeared to have 
arrived. With a fair insight now into Mr. Haldane’s 
character, I felt thairhe was quite capable of inventing a 
story of a marriage, and of returning home with a child 
whom he intended to be received as the child of that 
imaginary union. His motive for thus encumbering himself 
was not so clear, unless, indeed, at the root of a nature 
radically base there grew some tendrils of affection for a 
child of his blood. To enter, however, upon this road of 
conjecture, would profit me but little, and I turned from it 
at once, and applied myself to the task of extracting such 
scraps of further information from my companion as might 
chance to be of use to me. Did he know into what family Mr. 
Haldane had married, I asked. No, he replied, he did not, and 
what was more, he did not care ; nor did any of the vil- 
lagers, he added. Mr. Haldane had chosen to ignore them, 
and to treat them as though they were so much dirt. What 
interest, therefore, was it likely they would take in a 
domestic occurrence, even of that importance ? This feel- 
ing, to my mind, was quite natural, but I was surprised 
that the landlord of the ''Brindled Cow” should be so free 
in expressing it. It’ was true that he was in his cups, in 
which condition many men are apt to be indiscreet, and to 
commit themselves to disclosures and opinions which in 
their sober moments they would keep close. But my sur- 
prise lessened when I subsequently learned that the lease 
of the "Brindled Cow” — which, in common with all the other 
property in the village, belonged to Mr. Haldane — would 
run out in the course of a year, and that the landlord, 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


183 


whose family had held it for generations, could obtain no 
satisfactory assurance of a renewal. In addition to which, 
as my companion boastfully remarked, he was by no 
means badly off, and could afe>rd to snap his fingers at an;J 
man. 

“ If it wasn’t for my wife,” said the landlord, '' I’d fling 
the lease in his face. But she’s got no spirit ; she’s like my 
grandfather, and thinks that Chudleigh’s the world. It’s 
only a nutshell, I tell her, but she shakes her head and 
mourns. She’ll get over it though, if we have to flit. 
Why, you’d hardly believe it, she’s never been inside a 
theatre ; she trembles at the very thought of one. That’s 
what living in Chudleigh brings a body to ; dries ’em up, 
sir, dries ’em up. Give me London, I say again, and I’ll go 
on saying it till I get her there ; and then, when she got 
over her first scare, she’ll thank me for acting like a 
man.” 

You said awhile ago,” I said, after complimenting 
him upon his courage, that Mi*. Haldane was one man 
here and another man there. You referred to his young 
days, I take it. He has sown his wild oats.” 

Has he ?” exclaimed the landlord. "'I could tell a 
different tale if I’d a mind to. When the parson preaches 
about saints and sinners it would have a better application 
if he pointed his finger straight at Mr. Haldane. But they 
don’t throw stones at the rich ; it’s the poor, they hammer 
away at. What would the parson say, I worider, if he saw 
the master, as I’ve seen him, on a racecourse, carrying on 
with painted ladies in a way a common man would be 
ashamed of ! What would he say if ” 

But whatever further revelations the landlord was 
about to make, they were, much to my vexation, cut short 
by the appearance of his wife, who, opening the door un- 
ceremoniously, stood there and beckoned to him. Other- 
wise she neither spoke nor moved; she simply beckoned 
to him. Thinking of the manner in which he had spoken 
of her as a woman of no spirit, and of my own experience 
of her as a soft-spoken creature who scarcely raised her 
voice above a whisper, I was curious to witness the result 


184 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. | 

of this intrusion upon our privacy. Would the landlord^ 
storm and bluster, and peremptorily order her from the 
room ? Would he regale her with a stern lecture upon her 
presumption in thus daring to break in upon us ? Would 
he assert hisauthority as master of his house and as wearer 
of the breeches in a manner not to be mistaken ? To my 
astonishment he did nothing for a minute or two but sit 
and stare at her, the while her forefinger calmly inviting 
him to the course she deemed prudent for him. There 
was no resisting the mandate. Rising, after a period of 
imbecile hesitation, he looked at me foolishly, and meekly 
followed his wife from the room, indicating to me 
unerringly that if ever the grey mare was the better 
horse within the walls of an Englishman’s castle the ani- 
mal reigned here within the walls of the ‘'Brindled 
Cow.” 

The revelations, however, which the landlord had made 
of the ways and doings of Mr. Haldane, tantalizingly cut 
short as they were at the most interesting point, were suf- 
ficiently novel to occupy my attention, and to lead me to 
ponder upon the problem my companion had presented — 
a mental operation, the suspension of which was only 
caused by the arrival of Rachel Diprose from the Hall. 
Hailing her appearance as a welcome relief, and as a possible 
means of increasing my store of knowledge, I presented 
her first witj^^the album which Mr. Barlow had bought for 
her. Gifts are always welcome to those who are not over- 
burdened with them, and Rachel was profuse in her expres- 
sions of appreciation and in her admiration of the good 
taste which had guided the selection. ' We took a stroll in 
the village, I carrying the two albums, and afterwards 
walked leisurely to the Park, Rachel being good enough 
to observe that she felt as much at home with me as if 
she had known me for years and years. 

“ I am very pleased to hear it, my dear,” I said. 

Hitherto we had been conversing about George, and 
London, and the portraits of her immediate family in the 
album, no mention being made about the portraits of Mr. 
and Miss Haldane ; and as Rachel did not broach the sub- 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


185 


ject, I, as a fellow conspirator with Mr. Barlow, did not 
dream of doing so. Rachel had laughingly asked me 
whether I approved of the pictured presentments of her 
relations, and had then gone off in raptures of a baby 
niece, which I, as a prospective (and wishful to be) grand- 
father, regarded as a good and hopeful sign. These and 
other subjects of a close domestic nature being exhausted, 
I said — 

^‘So you and your young mistress are alone at the 
hall?" 

‘‘ Yes," said Rachel, with a half sigh, '' we are all alone." 

Interpreting the sign, and interpreting it wrongly, I 
said, You find it dull, Rachel." 

Oh, no, not at all," she said promptly. '' We are used 
to being alone. Mr. Haldane often goes to London." 

“ How often, my dear ? " 

Oh, over and over again. He spends more than half 
his time there." 

Taking Miss Haldane with him sometimes, I sup- 
pose f 

Oh, no, he never does that. He goes all by himself 
without any warning. And he often comes iDack that 
way." 

But he writes to his daughter beforehand saying that 
he is coming home." 

He never does," and I judged from her voice that her 
master was not in favor with her. 

Miss Haldane has been in London, of course ? " 

Twice, on a visit to friends." 

‘‘ You did not go with her, Rachel ? " 

No, I remained at the Hall." 

Mr. Haldane was with his daughter at the time of 
these visits, and he took her about to the theatres and 
exhibitions ? " 

He did nothing of the kind. Both times when Miss 
Haldane was in London he was abroad, and kept there. 
She saw nothing of her father till they were both back at 
the Hall." 

“ But surely," I said, '' Mr. Haldane going so often to 


186 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


London, has a house there ? He is rich enough to own one.” 

“ He may be that, for all I know,’* replied Rachel, 
but he hasn’t any house that I know of. He stops at 
some hotel or other. Leastways, that is where Miss Hal- 
dane writes to him. I don’t mind saying it to you, Mr. 
Millington, but if I was a young lady I shouldn’t like to 
have such a father.” 

“ Anything you say to me, my dear, is in confidence. I 
look upon you already as my daughter, and I hope you 
won’t keep George waiting too long.” 

You musn’t press me,” said Rachel, and her voice was 
at once firm and regretful. “ I’ve told George my mind, 
and he’s agreed to it. I’ll never leave my mistress till she’s 
happily married and settled.” 

So George has told me, my dear. But, Rachel, con- 
sider never ? ” 

Never, Mr. Millington,” she replied in a determined 
tone, which made me think there was no shaking this 
young woman, once she had made up her mind and ex- 
pressed it. 

Well, my dear,” I said, feeling it best, in George’s 
interests, not to oppose so resolute a maid, all we can hope 
for is that Miss Haldane will soon be happily married and 
settled.” 

“ I’m sure I hope so,” said Rachel, ingenuously. 

“ For George’s sake, my dear ? ” 

Yes, for George’s sake, and my own. A girl couldn’t 
wish for a better man than George, Mr. Millington.” 

“ That she could not, my dear, nor a truer, nor a more 
faithful lover.* And now, Rachel, the question that comes 
to me is, does Miss Haldane’s happiness depend upon her- 
self or upon someone else ? There’s a lover abroad, you 
told me, a young gentleman who’s trying to make his for- 
tune over the water. Does Miss Haldane’s happiness de- 
pend upon him ? ” 

‘‘ In one way it does, in another way it doesn’t. You 
see, Mr. Millington, they can’t do as they like, my young 
lady and her true sweetheart over the sea There’s a big 
stone in the way.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


187 


The stone has a name, Rachel.'^ 

“ The name’s Mr. Redwood.” 

‘“Ah, Mr. Louis Redwood, the bosom friend of Mr. 
Haldane.” 

“ That’s what he appears to be, and it makes the stone 

all the bigger and harder. They’re as thick as ” She 

did not put the last word to the common saying, not liking 
to apply it to Miss Haldane’s father, though I doubt 
whether she would have had the same scruple with respect 
to Mr. Redwood. 

“Rachel,” I said, “I think it is a good thing we are 
having this conversation ; no harm can come of it, and some 
good might. Do you mean to tell me that Mr. Redwood 
wants to marry your mistress ? ” 

“ He has proposed to her,” said Rachel. 

“ And she has refused him ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How does he take her refusal ? ” 

“ Laughs at it, won t accept it seriously, says she can^ 
not know her own mind, and that he will go on loving and 
loving her.” 

“ What does her father say ? ” 

“ He backs Mr. Redwood up. Of course you know, Mr. 
Millington, my young lady doesn’t tell me everything that 
passes between her father and her.” 

“ I should think, my dear, she tells you very little ; but 
you’ve got a head on your shoulders.” 

“ I have to guess the best part. He talks to her in his 
study, with nobody else by, and when she comes out I see 
by her eyes that she’s been crying. Mr. Millington, the 
other day I saw Mr. Redwood crossing the bridge over the 
lake to Chudleigh Woods, and s^id I to myself, ‘ if he’d 
only fall in and be drowned ? ’ I did ; I can be very wicked 
when I’m thoroughly worked up.” 

“ I thought of the scene on the bridge with Honoria and 
of her interview with Mr. Louis Redwood, at which I had 
been present, an unseen witness. 

“ I’ll not admit that, my dear,” I said. “ Instead of 
‘ wicked’ say ‘ staunch and loyal.’ ” 


188 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Thank you, Mr. Millington. The ti-ouble is, to be 
staunch and loyal when you’re being pulled two opposite 
ways at once. I did wish that Mr. Redwood would tumble 
into the lake, I did indeed. It’s that deep and that tangled 
with lily roots, that it wouldn’t have been easy for him to 
get out.” 

‘‘ Mr. Haldane and he being so thick together, it’s likely 
that they often meet in London.” 

“ From what my young lady lets fall I should say they 
do. What do you think I’ve heard whispered about, Mr. 
Millington — not from my young lady, but other people ?” 

Tell me, Rachel.” 

That Mr. Redwood is almost as much master here as 
Mr. Haldane himself. Mr. Redwood is enormously rich ; 
they say he’s got millions and millions. When he was 
quite a child, the story goes, a very, very large fortune was 
left to him, and he wasn’t to have it till he was twenty- 
one years of age. All the time he was growing up the for- 
tune kept growing up too, so that in the end it became 
something wonderful. I’ve heard that he could spend a 
thousand pounds a week, and not feel it. It’s a pity his 
money didn’t fall to a better man.” 

It is. The whisper that’s about, that he’s almost as 
much master here as Mr. Haldane, is caused, I should say — 
supposing there be any foundation for it — by Mr. Haldane 
borrowing money of him.” 

That’s what I’ve heard. Large sums of money.” 
''Which indicates that Mr. Haldane is pressed for it. 
There are mortgages, perhaps. All this is very serious, 
Rachel ; it doesn’t mak^ the road smoother for your mistress. 
Will she give way eventually ? Will her father persuade 
her to mary Mr. Redwood ? ” 

"Never, Mr. Millington, never, though there wasn’t 
another man in all the wide world. She doesn’t dare to say 
but she hates the very sight of him.” 

" Still, with her father on his side, urging her ” 

" No, Mr. Millington, no. She’s quiet, and gentle, and has 
the temper of an angel, but she can be firm as a rock. She’ll 
be true to her lover though they may never come together ; 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


189 


her father and Mr. Redwood may break her heart between 
them, but they won't persuade her to marry a man she 
doesn’t love.” 

It’s often done, Rachel,” said I ruefully, for George’s 
hopes were becoming more and more difficult of realization. 

I believe it is, but my young lady’s not one of that 
sort.” 

“ I will put a case before you, my dear. Matters being 
in the unfortunate position you have described, two things 
occur which have not been introduced. The first is, that 
the true lover across the seas continues to be so unfortunate 
that there is very little hope of his being able to come home 
and marry. The second is, that the father tells his daughter 
that he is in the power of the false lover, and that if she does 
not consent to marry him he will be ruined. What then ? 

“I don’t know what then,” said Rachel pettishly. Mr. 
Millington, you can say dreadful things ! ” 

My dear,” I said soothingly, '' I am only considering tlie 
subject from all points of view, as a man of my age and 
experience, and the father of a young man like George — 
whose happiness is at stake as well, remember — is bound to 
do. You are mistaken if you think I was drawing upon 
my imagination in putting the case to you. It has happened 
again and again.” 

It won’t happen with my young lady,” said Rachel, 
resolutely, if I can prevent it.” 

You wouldn’t give way ? ’ 

I’d be chopped into little bits first. Mr. Millington, 
you paid me a complaint by saying that I had a head on 
my shoulders.” 

You deserved it, my dear.” 

• '' I’m not the only one. You’ve got a head on yours ; 
I’ve found that out. When you were with my young lady 
you must have noticed that she wasn’t as bright as usual.” 

“ Yes, I noticed it.” 

You left her a bit brighter because of something you • 
told her about that Honoria.” 

Did Miss Haldane tell you, then ? ” 

“ She told me nothing,” replied this very sagacious young 


190 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


maid ; she knows I don’t care for Honoria, and she won’t 
make it worse against a young woman who’s — well, never 
mind what she is. I don’t need to be told everything ; if I 
did, what would be the good of the head on my shoulders 
you think so highly of ? I saw what I saw, and I judged 
accordingly. But there was a reason for my young lady 
not being bright and happy, when you first saw her, and 
Honoria wasn’t that reason.” 

“ What was, Rachel ?” 

Before her father went to London this last time he 
and my young lady were together in his study a good hour. 
A bad hour, I ought to call it, because all that day she 
never opened her lips to me. That didn’t prevent me know- 
ing what he’d been talking to her about; and when Mr. 
Redwood, who went to London with Mr. Haldane, said good- 
bye to my young lady, with his false voice and cold eyes, 
that can be as cold and cruel as voice and eyes can be, I’d 
have liked to poison him. That’s the reason of her being un- 
happy. Every morning there comes from London baskets of 
the loveliest flowers that Mr. Redwood sends to her. They 
must cost a mint of money ; but what’s the use of ’em to a 
lady who doesn’t love him, and whose got more flowers 
growing here all around her than she knows what to do 
with ? She hardly looks at his hateful presents, and when 
I take and put them out of sight she never as much as asks 
what I’ve done* with them. Do you call that love, on his 
side or hers ? He only sends the flowers to show that he’s 
got a power over her through her father, and I hate him, 
and hate him, and hate him ! ” 

She stamped her foot, and I could not but admire her 
for her loyalty, though it stood in the way of her own 
happiness. 

“ If George saw me like this,” she said, presently, with 
a little uncomfortable laugh, ‘‘ he’d think I’ve got a nice 
temper of my own. I can’t help it. Right’s right, and 
wrong’s wrong.” 

I turned the subject by saying, It’s a pity Miss Hal- 
dane hasn’t a mother living whose influence, used on her 
daughter’s side, would be likely to turn the scale in her 
favor,” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


191 


“ It is a pity,” assented Rachel. 

Does Miss Haldane ever speak of her mother ? ” I 
asked. 

Never.” 

'' Is there a portrait of the lady in the Hall ? ” 

‘‘ If there is,” said Rachel, '' IVe not seen it.” 

“ How long have you been in Miss Haldane’s service ? ” 
Nine years.” 

“ That was long after Mrs. Haldane’s death ? ” 

It must have been. I’ve never heard her spoken of 
by anybody.” 

It was clear that Rachel could give me no satisfactory 
information upon an important branch of the tangled story. 
Recognizing this, I began to speak of other things, and was 
pleased to see the vexed and anxious look fade out of her 
eyes before I left her for the night. The landlord of the 
“ Brindled Cow ” kept out of my way on my return, or 
rather, was kept out of my way by his careful wife, who 
must have had some suspicion that he had been too free 
with his tongue. Smoking my pipe I strolled along the 
quiet, narrow street of the village, reflecting' upon the 
position of affairs. I had gained an insight into certain 
matters which had an important bearing upon the story of 
love and intrigue, but the longer I thought of it the more 
satisfied was I that I was wise in throwing up my share 
in it. Only one consideration would have induced me to 
act otherwise, and that was' that I might be able to serve 
George in his courtship of pretty Rachel Diprose. But I 
did not see my way to this, and it was with an unquiet 
mind I sought my pillow, and strove to believe that things 
would come right in the end with him and Rachel and 
Miss Haldane. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

During my breakfast the next morning the solemn look- 
ing house steward of the Hall called upon me, and said 
that he had received a telegram from Mr. Haldane, who 


192 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


was on his way to Chudleigh, and would receive me at the 
Hall at twelve o’clock. I replied that I would wait upon 
Mr. Haldane at that hour, and he left me without uttering 
an unnecessary word. I whiled away the interval com- 
fortably enough, and that the landlord of the Brindled 
Cow ” was still guarded from my snares by his ostensibly 
meek and spiritless spouse did not disturb my equanimity. 
At the Hall I was received without delay by Mr. Haldane 
in his study. He came straight to the point. 

“ I did not expect,” he said, that you would have any- 
thing to impart to me so soon, or I should not have left 
Chudleigh ; but I was well within reach, and there has 
been a delay of only a few hours. I presume you have 
something to communicate.” 

‘‘Yes, sir,” I said. “I think I may safely say that I 
have executed the commission you entrusted to me.” 

“ You have been quick about it,” said Mr. Haldane, and 
I observed indications of nervousness in his manner, which 
was that of a man upon his trial waiting for the verdict. 
I had made up my mind to allow no sign to escape me 
during this interview. Let me hear what you have to 
say.” 

“ Miss Adeline Ducroz and Mr. Julius Clifford,” I com- 
menced, “ were in Paris in the year you named.” 

“ A waste of words,” said Mr. Haldane, with a frown. 
“ You were informed to that effect. Have you been 
employing your time in verifying the statements I made 
to you on behalf of Mr. Clifford ?” 

“Not that I am aware of, in any special way,” I replied, 
pausing a moment to preserve my temper, which Mr. 
Haldane’s haughtiness had aroused. “ Mr. Haldane, it 
seems to me necessary to remind you that I did not 
seek this commission. You placed yourself in communica- 
tion with me in the first instance, and it was with reluct- 
ance I undertook the task.” 

“ I see no need for argument,” said Mr. Haldane. “ Have 
you any special reason for what you are pleased to 
remind me ?” 

“ I have, sir. You do not speak to me with courtesy.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


193 


He stared hard at me, and paused to master his temper, 
as I had paused to master mine. Evidently he was not 
accustomed to be so addressed by those whom he considered 
and treated as his inferiors. He paused longer than I did. 
half expecting me, I think, to speak, and thus save him the 
awkwardness of replying in a direct manner to my inde- 
pendent remonstrance, but I preserved silence, and waited 
for him, which was another novel experience to the proud 
gentleman. 

I have no intention,” he said, of treating you dis- 
courteously. I shall feel obliged if you will proceed. 

I had to begin at some point,” I said, ‘‘ and that point 
was Paris. If I had not ascertained that Miss Ducroz and 
Mr. Clifford were in Paris at the time you mentioned I 
should have come to a full stop at once. You hampered my 
inquiries by omitting to supply me with the name of the 
hotel at which they stopped.” 

I informed you,” he said, that I would endeavor to 
obtain it, and would send it on to you.” , 

'' I received no communication from you,” I said, deter- 
mined not to spare him, and I must therefore repeat that 
my movements were hampered. I infer that you com- 
municated with Mr. Clifford, and that he had forgotten the 
name.” 

“ You may infer as much.” 

The first thing to ascertain,” I proceeded, taking, 1 
must own, a malicious pleasure in the method I was adopt-’ 
ing, was whether they stopped at any hotel. They did 
not ; they occupied a private apartment. Shall I go on 
from that point ? ” 

Certainly from that point. Why the inquiry ? ” 

‘‘ Because my investigation has furnished me with par- 
ticulars relating to the history of the parties before they 
visited Paris.” 

He turned pale, understanding what I intended him to 
understand, that I had discovered that the particulars of 
their previous history with which he had furnished me were 
false. 

We will not go into that,” he said; commence at 
Paris.” 


194 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


When Mr. Clifford left the lady in Paris she was in a 
dangerous illness, brought on partly by a lamentable in- 
fatuation for drink.’' 

'' Only partly brought on by that infatuation ? ” he 
inquired, warily. 

“ So my information goes. She was sufferingl greatly 
from grief of mind produced by her relations with Mr. 
Clifford, which dishonored her, and were more dishonorable 
to him.” 

'' Are you here to preach morals, Mr. Millington ? ” 

“ I am here, sir, to relate what 1 have learned, in accor- 
dance with your instructions. I assume that you are anxious 
that nothing should be concealed.” 

'' Proceed, if you please.” 

'' The malady from which Miss Ducroz was suffering led 
to such strange developments that it was right and proper 
that its cause should be traced, although such information 
as I have gained on that score was not the result of direct 
investigation. It came to me in a chance way, as it were. 
Her passion for drink was more a cultivated than an in- 
herent vice, and it was produced by Mr. Clifford’s treatment 
of her.” 

A statement of that nature,” said Mr. Haldane, '' can 
be but mere hearsay.” 

'' It might not be difficult,” I retorted, '' to obtain some- 
thing more than mere hearsay evidence upon the point. Some 
time after the departure of Mr. Clifford from Paris, with the 
precise date of which you did not furnish me, a child was 
born, a girl.” 

‘‘ Who died,” said Mr. Haldane, somewhat too quickly. 

So it was reported, but the particulars of its death, 
such as date, place of burial, et cetera, are wanting. With- 
out these particulars the death of the child cannot be absol- 
utely established. It is said that the baby died while the 
mother was in a delirious state, and she heard of it for the 
first time during an interval of reason when she was living 
in the house of a foreign doctor who undertook the cure of 
the disease from which Miss Ducroz was suffering.” 

'' The poor woman,” said Mr. Haldane, '' ended her days 
here.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


195 


She did not.” 

Mr. Haldane’s face turned white as falling snC)w. She 
did not I ” he echoed. 

She did not,” I repeated. “ With the assistance of an 
attendant in that house she made her escape, and finding 
her way to the cottage in which this attendant’s sister, a 
married woman, resided, lived with her there some short time, 
until the occurrence of a calamitous circumstance which 
caused her to fly from the place.” 

Are you certain,” asked Mr. Haldane, that you have 
not been pursuing a false track, that you are not confusing 
one woman with another ? His voice was very strained 
as he put this question, and his face had not regained its 
color. 

I am quite certain that I have not been misled. There 
is no possible doubt as to the exactness of my information.” 

'' Does proof of this exist ? ” 

I did not reply ; bearing in mind Mr. Barlow’s caution 
as to how far I was warranted to go in my disclosures, I was 
on my guard. 

‘‘ Does proof of this exist ? ” repeated Mr. Haldane. 

Why do you not answer me ? ” 

“ It is not in my power to do so,” I said. Much of 
my information has been gained through a third party, 
who has imposed secrecy upon me.” 

A third party ! ” exclaimed Mr. Haldane, beating the 
table in anger with his clenched hand. Then you have 
betrayed my confidence, and have made the affair with 
which I entrusted you common property.” 

“ I have done nothing of the kind, Mr. Haldane,” I said 
firmly, “ and if you do not treat me with proper respect I 
shall put an end to this interview immediately.” 

You will put an end to this interview,” he cried. 

I will, indeed,” I said, in a calm voice. Had it not 
been for yourself I should have known nothing of the 
affair, and my one regret is that I ever allowed myself to 
be dragged into so base a piece of business. Take the 
blame upon your own shoulders for compelling me to ad- 
dress you in such a manner. You seem to forget, sir, what 


196 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


you owe to yourself and to others in your transactions. 
You seem,* also, to forget that you are acting for a person 
with whom I am not supposed to be acquainted.” 

I am corrected,” said Mr. Haldane, showing the white 
feather, as all blusterers do when they are met with a bold 
front ; '' but you, too, seem to forget yourself when you re- 
fer to Mr. Clifford as a person, instead of speaking of him 
as a gentleman.” 

I decline,” I said, preserving my composure, although 
I was inwardly somewhat chafed, “ to regard him as a gen- 
tleman after what I have learnt of his character ; were he 
present at this moment I should have no hesitation in say- 
ing so to his face. Perhaps it will be best, after all, sir, as we 
are both getting rather heated, to carry out my suggestion 
of ending this interview. I had no intention, when I came 
to see you, of doing or saying anything except what be- 
longs properly to the unfortunate commission I accepted 
from you. Had you allowed me to tell my story straight 
on, and to give you the result of my inquiries without inter- 
ruptions, I should not have been provoked into the expres- 
sion of opinions.” 

“ The interview,” said Mr. Haldane, almost deferential 
now in his manner, cannot be allowed to end here. I will 
not use the word ' unprofessional,’ but it certainly would 
not be fair to withhold any further information which you 
may have gathered in the course of the business you under- 
took for me, on behalf of Mr. Clifford. You cannot imagine 
that I have myself any personal interest in the matter, and 
it is therefore ridiculous that I should have taken up j^our 
opinions so warmly. I apologize to you, Mr. Millington, 
and beg you to proceed.” 

Very well, sir. How it was that the rumor you men- 
tioned of Miss Ducroz dying in the house of the doctor got 
about I cannot say ; I have heard nothing of such a rumor 

until now from your lips ” 

" Say, if you please,” interrupted Mr. Haldane, from 
Mr. Clifford s lips.” 

As you are acting for Mr. Clifford, sir,” I said, with in- 
tentional emphasis, it is one and the same.” The arrows 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


197 


struck home, I saw, but I did not appear to notice it. 

Shortly after Miss Ducroz’s flight, however, from the 
cottage in which she had found a refuge a rumor of her 
death was circulated, and it was supposed she committed 
suicide by drowning. That rumor, also, proved to be false, 
for some four or five years afterwards Miss Ducroz was 
seen alive by a woman who was acquainted with her.” 

May I ask who this woman is ? ” 

Mr. Clifford will remember her. She is the woman 
wno nursed Miss Ducroz in Paris, under his direction and 
in his pay.^ 

“ Is it known positively that she was employed and paid 
by Mr. Cliftbrd T” asked Mr. Haldane, again, by his agita- 
tion and imprudence, laying himself open to attack. 

'' By whom else,’’ I replied, could she have been 
employed and paid ? Miss Ducroz had no family or friends 
in Paris or England, and she was destitute of means. The 
only friend she had in the world was in America at that 
time— so my information goes.” 

A lady or gentleman friend, may I enquire ? ” 

If I had not been aware that he himself was Julius 
Clifford, his eagerness and his curiosity to learn all I knew 
would have betrayed him. 

‘‘A lady who had brought Miss Ducroz up as her 
daughter, and who took her to America. Her name is 
Kennedy. You will tell Mr. Clifford this ? ” 

“ I shall tell him everything you have imparted to me. 
It is dry work, Mr. Millington, relating so long and weari- 
some a story. Will you have a glass of wine ? ” 

No, thank you, sir,” I said, as he produced wine and 
glasses from a compartment in the sideboard. I consider 
myself on duty, and I never drink during business.” 

His hand trembled as he poured out a full glass and 
tossed it down ; he filled another and pushed it towards me, 
but I did not touch it. 

You were saying, Mr. Millington ” 

That Miss Ducroz being in Paris without friends or 
means, and being attended by nurses and doctors, it must 
have been Mr. Clifford who paid the expenses of her illness.” 


198 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Is it not possible that she may have made another 
friend during her residence in Paris ? ” 

‘‘ Possible enough,'’ I replied, but the information 
obtained is too precise and absolute to admit of such a con- 
jecture. Here, sir, I come to an end of my task." 

You have ascertained nothing further with respect to 
Miss Ducroz ? " 

Nothing further that I can speak of with certainty, or 
that I have the right to speak of at all." 

“ That is a strange answer. Can you inform me whether 
she is still living ? ” 

“ It is not in my power to answer that question." 

You have gained a vast amount of information in a 
short space of time," said Mr. Haldane, with a furtive but 
keen observance of me. What methods did you adopt ? " 

They are my own, sir. I cannot disclose them." 

“ You consider it fair not to do so ? " 

"Quite fair, sir. We never reveal professional secrets." 

"There is a likelihood thatyou have discovered more than 
you have imparted to me. For instance, the name of the 
Parisian nurse to whom you have referred." 

" Yes. Madame Pau. She met Mr. Clifford in Paris 
some time after Miss Ducroz's departure ‘rom that city, and 
it was he who informed her that Miss Ducroz and her child 
were dead. This is a proof that he had taken means to 
keep himself acquainted with Miss Ducroz's history after 
he deserted her in Paris." 

You are not choice in your language, Mr. Millington." 

" I am speaking, sir, of Mr. Clifford, not of Mr. Haldane.” 

" True ; but I had no idea you were so sensitive." 

" You surely did not suppose you were employing a 
machine ? " 

"No, certainly not. I should like to ask another ques- 
tion or two, Mr. Millington." 

" You can do so, sir, but I will not promise to answer 
them." 

" Did your investigations lead you to any disclosures, 
true or false, of Mr. Clifford's acquaintance with Miss 
Ducroz before their visit to Paris ? " 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


199 


I did not regret the opportunity he afforded me to 
answer and sting him. They did. I am acquainted with 
the complete history of their acquaintance.'’ 

Does it tally,” he asked, with the account I gave you 
of that acquaintance ? ” 

It does not, sir. There is a very serious difference in 
the two versions. Remember, if you please, that I do not 
make this statement voluntarily. You have invited it.” 

You will favor me, I dare say, with the false version 

presented to you by the — the ” He was in a difficulty 

for words to express himself — the opposing party.” 

I cannot do that, sir.” 

Will money buy it from you, Mr. Millington ? ” 

Money will not buy it from me, sir.” 

« We will speak of it again by and by ; my desire is to 
remain on friendly terms with you. What do you propose 
now to do ? ” 

I have completed my task, sir, and all I have to do is 
to render my account. It is here, sir, and you can examine 
it now, or at your leisure. You gave me a cheque for two 
hundred pounds. My journeys to and from Chudleigh 
Park, with the incidental expenses, amount to less than 
five pounds. I have brought the balance in cash, and shall 
feel obliged if you will count it.” 

"But, Mr. Millington,” he exclaimed, in amazement, 
" you do not mean to say that the expenses of so wide an 
inquiry can have been so light ? It is preposterous. Keep 
the money, I beg. There is your professional experience, 
your valuable time ” 

"For which,” I said, not interrupting him, and only 
taking his words up because he did not finish the sentence, 
"I make no charge. I relinquished business some time 
since, and should never have returned to it.” 

" I cannot be under any obligation to you,” he said, 
with the mortification of a proud, vain man accustomed to 
have his way. " I shall insist upon paying you for your 
services.” 

" You cannot force me to accept payment,” I said, with 
a smile ; I had had the upper hand of him all through, and 


200 


TIES, HtiMAlSf AND DIVINE. 


I meant to keep it. It is not worth while arguing, sir. I 
wish you good morning.'’ 

“ Stay,” he cried, as I stepped towards the door, there 
is something exceedingly suspicious in the attitude you 
have assumed. Another man would doubt whether you 
had behaved honestly by him.” 

It is open to you to do so,” I retorted. ‘‘ I certainly 
should not answer such an accusation.” 

Or,” he continued, '' having accepted a commission 
from a gentleman who entrusted you with certain secrets, 
you, without warning or notice, transferred your services 
to some person or persons who wish to injure him.” 

I will satisfy you so far,” I said. I am in the service 
of no person whatever, and shall not stir actively in the 
matter from this day forth.” 

So saying I wished good day again, and left him with a 
dark cloud upon his face, standing' by the table, upon which 
he was beating the devil’s tattoo. 

Rachel,” I said, later in the day, when she was walk- 
ing with me to the railway station, '' I do not think you 
will see me in Chudleigh again. Our next meeting will be 
in London, and I hope it will be soon.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

I HAVE now very nearly concluded the task I engaged to 
perform, urged to its performance partly by my desire to 
recall and review the direct part I had played in this story 
of human passions, but chiefly by the persuasion of my old 
friend and partner Mr. Barlow (now retired from business, 
and devoting himself to a more congenial pursuit). I 
should not have undertaken it in any circumstances had 
not the story reached a point — far ahead of the time at 
which I ceased my labors — when, happily, I f^nd relief 
from anxieties which had been long oppressing me. These 
anxieties were directly connected with my son George and 
Rachel Diprose. As to this I shall say no more, leaving the 
matter with Mr. Barlow, in accordance with his desire. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


201 

" After you deliver your manuscript into my hands,” he 
said to me, '' I promise that you, and others, shall have the 
opportunity of continuing this strange story to its natural 
end — if,” he added, ''the term natural can be properly 
applied to some of its phases. It is a book of human life 
as it is lived to-day, and it would be next door to a crime 
to allow it to be lost to the world.” 

" You intend to make use of it,” I said, as usual jump- 
ing to one of my conclusions, " in a literary way.” 

" Say that I confess as much,” he replied, " and thank 
me for performing a service to men and women, while sat- 
isfying my ambition.” 

Certainly since my personal connection with Mr. and 
Miss Haldane there have been strange developments in 
their history, as well as in the histories of others who have 
been incidentally introduced into this drama, and mention 
has been made in certain papers of some of the incidents 
that have occurred. How far the public have the right to 
a knowledge of such-like matters I should not like to say, 
the conditions and demands of social life are so very differ- 
ent to-day from what they were. Nor will I commit 
myself to an opinion as to the taste which dictates dis- 
closures of private matters with which newspaper readers 
are now familiarized. I leave the question for wiser and 
abler men than myself to discuss and decide. Sufficient 
for me that my anxieties are at an end, and that, as in old- 
fashioned melodrama (which does not greatly differ from 
the melodrama at present in vogue at West End threatres) 
virtue has been rewarded and vice defeated. There are 
blots on the scenes which followed my retirement from 
active participation in the drama, blots which have made 
me ponder, as they will many men. It is not all sunlight; 
there are shadows here and there which suggest sad reflec- 
tion. That is all I shall say ; to lift the curtain higher 
would probably interfere with Mr. Barlow’s plans. 

Having^ then, washed my hands of the affair, I bade 
adieu to Mr. Haldane and his daughter, and left Chudleigh 
Park with the idea that I should never visit it again unless 
under the impulse of curiosity. I returned to London a 


202 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


much lighter-hearted man than I had been for several days 
past ; it really seemed to me as if I had got rid of a night- 
mare. The landlord of the Brindled Cow ” had given me 
plenty to think about in his half revelations of the character 
of Mr. Haldane, but, although for a short time afterwards 
my thoughts often v/andered in that direction, I got them 
out of the unpleasant groove, and wooed myself back to 
the little home circle of daily life in which I found my 
greatest pleasure. My first visit, upon my return to London, 
was paid, of course, to Mr. Barlow, to whom I related all 
that had passed at the ‘‘ Brindled Cow ’’ and the Hall. Noth- 
ing surprises Mr. Barlow, and consequently he expressed no 
surprise at the information I gave him. 

It is imprudent for a man to make enemies,” he said, 
and it is an error into which the proud gentleman of 
Chudleigh Park falls rather heavily. It is so easy to avoid 
hurting men’s feelings, but it belongs to his pride to do so 
systematically. If he should have a fall — I am speaking 
metaphorically, Millington — there are plenty who will 
rejoice. I told you that you would have a hard task with 
him. He curbed himself in, evidently, being frightened by 
the knowledge you have gained of his character ; but take 
my word for it, if ever he can do you a bad turn he will 
not hesitate.” 

He is not likely to have the opportunity,” I said, “ our 
lines lay far apart now.” 

‘‘ It is those lines that lie so far apart,” observed Mr. 
Barlow, sagely, ‘‘ that so often cross when least expected. 
High and low are closer together than you suspect. Life’s 
a chessboard ; move a pawn wrong, and your king’s in 
danger. That’s a singular letter you tell me of from the 
girl Honoria to Miss Haldane. What if she should come 
into the play ? ” 

Hardly possible,” I remarked. 

In the highest degree possible,” said Mr. Barlow, in 
correction. ‘‘ Miss Haldane’s future is involved in that of 
Mr. Louis Redwood. There are strong links between Hon- 
oria and Mr. Redwood. Mr. Redwood is inclose connection 
with Mr. Haldane. See ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


203 


“ I am not going to worry my head,” I said gaily. I 
leave it to you, Barlow.” 

And what they call fate,” said Mr. Barlow, thought- 
fully. 

I am content,” I said. “ I am free.” 

'' Not quite,’" said Mr. Barlow. '' You will hear some- 
thing yet, not of your seeking, of that fellow Simpson."" 

Mr. Barlow was right. I think it was within a week 
that, standing at my street door, smoking a pipe, I saw 
Mr. Simpson coming down the street towards me. 

Here I am, Millington,"" he said, with gratified effusion, 
as large as life."" 

When I saw him first I had the inclination to beat a 
retreat into my house, and to send my little maid to the 
door, with the information that I was not at home, but 
upon second thoughts, which whispered to me that Simp- 
son was not the kind of man one could shake off at will, 
I stood my ground, and gave him my hand. 

“ And how are you, Millington ? "" he cried, heartily. 
How are you, old friend ? "" 

I replied that I was very well, which was true, and that 
I was glad to see him, which was false. 

“ I knew you would be,"" he said, '' after our pleasant 
meetings in Chudleigh. You"ve been down there again. 
Had a jolly time, I hope."" 

Pretty well,"" I said. 

'' Now, Millington, Millington,"" he said, in sportive 
rebuke, '' I wouldn’t have believed it of you. ' What I like 
about Millington," I said to friend yesterday, when I speak- 
ing of you and telling my friend what a thorough clipper 
you were, ' What I like about Millington is that there’s 
nothing double-faced about him. And that’s a good deal 
more than you can say of most Londoners." A jolly time 
at Chudleigh ! No, no, Millington — no, no, my friend.” 

'' What did you ask me for, then ? "" I said. 

" To hear what you thought of Chudleigh when you 
were there without a congenial soul to cheer you up.” 

'' You being the congenial soul.” 

Who else, I should like to know ? I took to you 


204 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


instanter, and you took to me. We’re matched, Millington ; 
cut out for each other. We might have been hoys together 
when I think of the feeling I’ve got for you. Chudleigh’s 
the beastliest hole that a man can vegetate in.” 

And then he launched out into a violent attack upon 
Chudleigh, which reminded me of the landlord of the 
" Brindled Cow,” although that worthy’s dislike to Chud- 
leigh was more mildly expressed. In this respect, and in 
respect of being loose-tongued in their cups, there was a 
marked resemblance between Simpson and my friend the 
landlord. 

I say,” asked Simpson when he had exhausted his 
theme, “ between pals, what took you down to Chudleigh ? ” 

“ Between men of the world, say,” I suggested. 

Good. Between men of the world, what took you 
down there ? ” 

Business ” 

Oh, business,” said Simpson, warned by the tone in 
which I uttered the word that he was not likely to get 
much out of me. 

Private business,” I said to clench the matter. 

Ah, private business. Good to invest money there, 
you told me. Made up your mind. 

‘‘ Not quite.” 

‘‘ Likely to go down again ?” 

Not at present.” 

You’re a close one, Millington,” he said, smothering his 
chagrin in a laugh. “ Well, I won’t be hard on you. That’s 
the advantage of being a Londoner, and living in London. 
You’ve feathered your nest. This is the place for making 
money— — ” 

“ And spending it.” 

“Yes, and spending it — the right way, mind. Seen 
anything of Honoria ? ” 

“ Nothing. Have you ? ” 

“ Not set eyes on her. I went to see a play the other 
day — ‘ Lost in London.’ It was all about a young woman, 
too.” 

“ Easy enough for a young woman to do that.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


205 


'' To lose oneself here. Right you are, Millington. And 
to play one’s game here without anybody being the wiser. 
But mum’s the word, eh ? ” 

It is a safe word.” 

It is. You’re a knowing bird, but there’s others as 
knowing.” 

‘"No doubt.” 

“ Mustn’t tell tales out of school, eh? ” 

Depends upon the kind of company you re in,” I said. 

From Simpson’s state of restlessness, burning to babble, 
and but feebly held back by prudential considerations, I 
judged that he had been imbibing a glass or two. I did 
not encourage him, however ; I had done with his master, 
and had no disposition to be drawn into the net again. 

I’ll tell you what, Millington,” said Simpson. 'T’ve 
got a night off, aud I’ll spend it with you.” 

This was cheerful, and inwardly I did not receive it 
gracefully ; but in a sort of way I had brought the inflic- 
tion upon myself by the address card I had given Simpson 
in Chudleigh, and without being downright boorish I could 
not very well shake him off. 

'' I will,” he said. ''We’ll make a night of it. You 
shall give me a cup of tea, and then we’ll go to a music- 
hall or a theatre. Music-hall for choice. It’s livelier ; you 
can see life there. I don’t ask you to stand treat. We’ll 
pay equal shares. That’s only fair. When I’m in London 
I feel like a sailor just come ashore. No meanness about 
me, Millington. Here’s my money,” — he rattled some 
coins in his pocket — " and I spend it free. What’s life 
without jollity ? I’ll wait till I’m sixty before I become a 
chapel man.” 

As luck would have it, my little maid came to the door, 
and said that tea was ready. 

" That’s what I call friendly,” said Simpson, clapping 
me on the shoulder. " After you, Millington, after you.” 

So I stepped back into the passage, and Simpson fol- 
lowed me. George, who had come home early from his 
workshop, ran downstairs from his room, where he was 
fashioning some article for his future domestic life, with 


206 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Rachel, and pulled himself up when he saw me in the com- 
pany of a stranger. 

‘‘ My son, George,’’ I said, introducing them. “ This is 
Mr. Simpson, from Chudleigh Park.” 

Glad to make your acquaintance, young Mr. Milling- 
ton,” said Simpson.** You re a chip of the old block. Hallo !” 

What caused this exclamation was a photograph of 
Rachel Diprose, for which George had made a pretty frame. 
It hung over the mantelshelf. He looked at the picture, 
looked at George, and George looked at him. 

** If my eyes don’t deceive me,” said Simpson, ** that’s a 
fair friend of mine. There can’t be two of ’em. Pretty 
Rachel, from the Hall.” 

** Miss Diprose,” said George, stiffly. 

** Yes, pretty Rachel Diprose. But I had no notion 
she’d ever been in London.’ 

** She never has been, I believe,” I said, and then I ex- 
plained that some months ago George had been down in 
Chudleigh, assisting in the alterations at the Hall. 

** I remember their being made,” said Simpson, with a 
lofty air, ** though I wasn’t in England at the time. Mr. 
Haldane and I were travelling in foreign parts.” 

** I didn’t see you in Chudleigh,” said George, still very 
stiff. The two men did not take to each other, but Simpson 
was more successful in concealing his feelings, whatever 
they may have been, than my lad. 

** It’s my opinion,” he said, with an attempt at jocularity, 
tapping George on the breast, and giving him a wink, *‘ that 
you’re a gay Lothario, a regular Don Ju-an.” 

** Begging your pardon, Mr. Simpson,” said George, with 
frown, ** I don’t care to joke about ladies.” 

** Very proper,” said the unabashed Simpson. ** I take off 
my hat to them — and to you, young Mr. Millington. No 
disrespect, upon my honor as a gentleman.” This time he 
tapped his own breast with his fingers, and made a bow to 
George. ** It’s a pleasure thrown in, so to speak, to find 
oneself suddenly in the presence of the picture of a young 
person ” 

Of a young lady,” corrected George. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


207 


‘‘ Of a young lady who lives in the same house as I do. 
Show me a prettier face, young Mr. Millington, and I'll be 
bound to dispute it with you.’’ Then he hummed an air, 
and sang a line of a song commencing with Woman, dear 
woman.” 

Perceiving George’s displeasure I put a stop to the 
awkward episode by saying, ‘‘ Come along. Tea is waiting 
for us.” 

And I am waiting for it,” said Simpson, seating himself 
with assumed geniality. 

He did full justice to the meal, conversing chiefly with 
me, for George scarcely opened his lips. He was nettled, 
and he took no trouble to disguise it. 

We’re going to a music hall,” said Simpson, addressing 
him when he had had his All. Will you join us ?” 

“ No, thank you,” said George, and I did not attempt to 
persuade him. 

When we rose from the table Simpson insisted upon my 
showing him my garden ; our eating room was at the back 
of the house, and the window looked out upon my bit of 
ground. I was not sorry to get him away from George, and we 
went into the garden together, George going up to his room 
in no very amiable temper. Before we left the house I had 
a word with my lad, and he confided to me his opinion that 
Simpson was an insufferable cad, in which I heartily agreed 
with him. 

‘‘ We shan’t see anything more of him after to-night,” 
I said. ‘‘ He was rather useful to me in Chudleigh, and I’ve 
got to put up with him for an hour or two.” 

George threw his arm around my shoulder, and said, 
‘‘ All right, dad. It takes all sorts to make a world. Mr. 
Simpson’s not one of my sort, that’s all.” 

“Nor one of mine, my boy,” I said, and with an affec- 
tionate hand-shake I went out with Simpson. 

“ That’s not a bad little pitch of yours, Millington,” said 
he, patronisingly, hooking his arm in mine. “ Could put 
up with it myself. It wants just one piece of furniture to 
make it complete.” 

“ And what may that be ? ” I inquired. 


208 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


A trim little wife,’’ replied Simpson, and I inwardly 
blessed my stars that George was not with us ; he would 
have taken Simpson up pretty warmly, tor likening a wife < 
to a piece of furniture. 

I’m past that,” I said. Too old to marry.” ^ 

Oh, I don’t mean you. I was thinking of your George. 
Lucky young dog ! I say — is it a settled thing between 
him and pretty Rachel ? ” 

Can you keep a secret ? ” I asked. 

So can I.” 

Whereupon Simpson burst out laughing, and vowed, as 
he had vowed before, that he was no match for me. He 
continued to harp upon Rachel, however, and he succeeded 
in forcing the suspicion upon me that he felt himself rather 
an injured person in respect to her and George, as though 
my lad was poaching on his preserves. I held my tongue, 
and declined to enlighten him on the question whether there 
was a regular engagement between George and Rachel. 
Simpson was a trying companion, and I resolved, after this 
night, to have as little to do with him as possible, though 
I ruefully contemplated the likelihood of his developing the 
qualities of a leech. At every third or fourth public-house' 
he made a pause, and invited me to drink, and upon my 
steadfastly refusing, drank alone. I thought it rather cool ^ 
of him to tell me after his second glass that it was my turn ' 
to stand treat, and upon my demurring he argued the point , 
with me, contending that we had agreed to pay equal shares 
in the expenses of the night’s pleasures. When I 
pointed out to him that, so far as the emptying of glasses 
at public-house bars was concerned, he was having those 
pleasures to himself, he replied that that was not his 
fault ; there was the liquor, and there the opportunity ; to 
which he added the inquiry whether I did not consider, 
his society worth something. T found all this somewhat 
trying, and it became more so at the music halls we visited. i 
I use the plural number because we paid for entrance into i 
three of these establishments, with the attractions of which | 
Simpson showed himself to be thoroughly familiar. I 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


209 


would have left him if I could have done so decently, but 
he would not part with me, and as I did not wish to make 
an open enemy of him — chiefly for the reason that he mi^ht 
make things unpleasant for Rachel at the Hall — I submitted. 
At quarter to twelve, the music halls being closed, we found 
ourselves in the streets, I steadying my companion, who was 
by this time in a very maudlin condition. He had extracted 
from me the promise that I would see him home, wherever 
that might be, and it is seldom I have had a more 
unpleasant task. He shed tears, he abused everybody, he 
swore that his feelings had been imposed upon, he pro- 
claimed war against those who had betrayed him. 

“ They had better take care,” he said, every man Jack 
of them, and every woman Jack as well — no, woman’s a 
Jill. I know a thing or two worth money. They had better 
take care.” 

'' Hold up,” I said. 

‘‘ Hold up yourself. Why, there’s them as call them- 
selves gentlemen, and them as calls themselves ladies — 
what are they ? No better than I am. There’s names I 
could mention, and things I could tell about them, that 
they’d give something to keep hushed up. Who said hush 
up ? 

You did.” 

“ I didn’t. It was you. Millington, youVe no better 
than I won’t say what. There’s men as calls themselves 
masters, and men they call servants. Deny it if you can.” 

“ I don’t deny it.” 

“ Very well, then. They’d better look out.” 

Thought I to myself, ‘‘ If Barlow were in my place he 
would worm something useful out of Simpson.” But I did 
not try, being heartily sick of him. 

“ I know a secret or two, Millington,” he said. 

^ “I daresay.” 

“I won’t let on, unless they drive me to it, and they’ve 
I been near it more than once. Butter your bread. Milling- 
I ton, and butter it thick. What can you say against that; 
j you sly dog ? ” 

“Nothing.” 


210 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


If I had some people's money I'd make a show in the 
world. What I say is, make everything equal, give every, 
man a chance. I won't speak against young George 'i 

You had better not." i 

“ Didn't I say I wouldn't ? But why should some meni 
have every woman, and leave other men as good as them-! 
selves out in the cold ? It's an unfair division. There'll 
be a riot some day, and then they’ll know all about. Where | 
are you shoving to ?" 

He had stumbled against two gentlemen who were| 
passing us arm in arm. They turned and looked at us. 
and I recognized Mr. Haldane and Mr. Louis Redwood. I 
do not know whether they recognized me; I wheeled 
Simpson aside, and they did not accost us, but the chance 
encounter did not add to my comfort ; my apparently con- 
fidential association with Simpson could easily have been 
interpreted into treachery. 

Did you see who those gentlemen were ?" I asked. 

I didn't, and I don't care.” | 

‘‘ They were your master and Mr. Redwood.” 

There's a pair of them. I wish you joy. ' 

‘ You’ll hear something of this to-morrow.” 

Shall I ? Who cares? When I've got a night off li 
do what I like with it. Perhaps he'll discharge me, per-' 
haps he won't. I defy him. We’re not the only ones wlic 
know when our bread's well buttered. That for my 
master. 

He snapped his fingers, and I was well pleased presently 
when, getting entangled in a crowd gathered to witness a| 
night brawl, the opportunity was afforded me of giving! 
Simpson the slip. His subsequent adventures on this nightj 
were no affair of mine. I should have been delighted to 
hear that they had ended in the lock-up. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


211 


) CHAPTER XXVIo 

Mr. Barlow being anxious that I should omit none o£ my 
experiences in connection with this history, I have at his 
request added another chapter, which will be my last. 

During the six months that elapsed after my night 
out ’’ with Simpson I saw nothing more of him. He did 
jnot trouble me, and you may be sure I did not trouble him. 
There was a sufficient reason, as I afterwards learned, for 
jour not meeting. He and his master had gone abroad, and 
jfor the most part of this time remained out of England. 
I did not pay another visit to Chudleigh Park. Miss Hal- 
dane wrote to me once about Honoria, but I had no news 
lito communicate, and I replied to that effect. These were 
'the only letters that passed between us. George, of course, 
kept up his correspondence with Rachel Diprose, but their 
marriage appeared as far off as ever. It did not lessen my 
Jfcid’s love for his sweetheart, nor, as her letters proved, hers 
Jor him. From these letters I gathered that Miss Hal- 
idanes life at Chudleigh Park was rather lonely. She 
ireceived no visits, and paid none, a sign that she had made 
no friendships of an enduring nature among those of her 
station. On two occasions George informed me that there 
was a likelihood of Miss Haldane and Rachel coming to 
London for a week or two, and the expectation set him in 
h glow of delight. But these visits were not paid, being 
frustrated, as I understood, by Mr. Haldane, who wrote 
from abroad that his daughter was to remain at the Hall. 
Once, and once only, did George go to Chudleigh, to see 
Rachel ; he spent a Sunday there, and stopped at the 
Brindled Cow’’; that he did not go again was due to 
Rachel, who thought it best that he should keep away — 
for her young mistress’ sake, I believe. I took the blame 
of this upon myself. George was my son, and as I was 
not in favor with Mr. Haldane my lad’s appearance in 
Chudleigh might have been misconstrued. 


212 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


'' You will be an old man, and Rachel an old woman, I 
said to George, before you come together.” 

“ Not quite that, I hope, dad,” said George. Things 
will be all right before long.” 

I did not have much faith in long engagements, and so 
I hinted to George ; but he appeared to be satisfied that 
nothing could occur to prevent him and Rachel being true 
to each other. 

“ She is worth waiting for,” he said, and it’s no use 
fretting.” 

Mr. Barlow also was at a standstill ; he had made no 
further progress in the affair upon which he was engaged, 
for although he made no fresh discoveries he was still in 
commission. It was his opinion that Mr. Haldane had left 
England to escape detection. I remarked that if this were 
the case Mr. Haldane must have had some suspicion that 
an enemy was working against him. Mr. Barlow concurred, 
saying that something must have reached Mr. Haldane’s 
ears which put him on his guard. My old partner paid me 
now regular visits, which George and I returned. He and 
his wife had grown very fond of George, and about once a 
week we all took supper together, at Barlow’s house or 
mine. On one of these nights, when we were walking from 
his house, Barlow, who liked a little walk after supper, 
being with us, he asked me if I had anything particular to 
do to-morrow. I answered, nothing. 

“ I want you to spend an hour with me,” he said. 
'' Come to the office between two and three.” 

I presented myself accordingly and we turned from 
Surrey street into the Strand, and there took a ’bus to the 
Marble Arch. I may mention that it was the height of the 
season, and London was very gay, by reason of a Royal 
visit, which set society circles in a flutter. 

I am going,” said Mr. Barlow, '' to take you to Rotten 
Row.” 

'' Anything special going on there ? ” I asked. 

We shall see,” was his reply. 

This was somewhat enigmatical, but I knew that Bar- 
low seldom did anything special without a special reason. 
In the ’bus he volunteered another piece of information. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


213 


Mr. Redwood is in London,” he said. 

“ And Mr. Haldane ? ” I inquired. 

I cannot say, but it is very likely.” 

Arriving at Rotten Row we found a good place by the 
rails, and watched the panorama of fashion as it passed by 
and repeated itself on horseback and in carriages. 

" It is a favorite pastime of mine,” said Mr. Barlow. 
‘‘ I like to see the swells doing duty.” 

There are plenty of them,” I said, who don’t seem to 
be enjoying themselves much.” 

“ It is a sad pleasure to many,” said Mr. Barlow, '' especi- 
ally to the carriage swells ; but it is a duty they owe to 
society to show themselves. Look at that lot.” 

There were three elderly ladies in the turn-out, and 
unutterable weariness reigned on their faces, which were 
worn and pasty with late nights. I smiled, and said I 
would sooner be what I was. 

‘‘ Bunkum,” observed Mr. Barlow. If you were a swell 
you would do likewise.” 

I disputed this, but Barlow would not be gainsayed. It 
did not escape me that all the time we were talking he 
appeared to be looking out for something not in the 
common waj^, and a sudden lighting up of his features 
revealed to me that it was approaching. In a handsome 
victoria, the appointments of which were absolutely fault- 
less, sat a young lady, who as she came closer to us, caused 
the blood to rush into my face. 

‘ - Ah,” said Mr. Barlow, who was observing me closely 
as the victoria approached . 

Barlow,” I cried, seizing his arm, you remember my 
telling you about the girl Honoria I brought to London from 
Chudleigh Park ? ” 

Perfectly,” he replied. I don’t forget much.” 

I could almost swear,” I said, that the very girl is 
sitting in that carriage.” 

“ Wait till she comes round again,” said Barlow.” 

I strained my eyes till I saw her in the distance. She 
was richly dressed, and leaned back in her carriage with 
, the born negligent air of a lady of fashion. That one so 


214 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


beautiful should attract universal attention was not surpris- 
ing; and indeed she was very beautiful. No trace of 
despair was on her face, which bore the expression of one 
accustomed to admiration. Hats were raised to her, and 
now and again a mounted cavalier carolled by her side, and 
exchanged salutations. Some she received graciously, some 
coldly, but even in her graciousness there was an air of 
disdain and power to which all appeared to submit. No 
lady saluted or acknowledged her, but I noticed that most 
of them looked furtively, even admiringly, at her. As she 
passed us the second time she happened to turn her eyes in 
my direction. They rested on my face, but there was no 
sign of recognition, although she gazed at me steadily. 

'^Well?’' questioned Barlow. 

'' It is Honoria,'' I said. 

That is the name she is known by,’’ said Barlow. I 
was here yesterday, and saw her for the first time, and 
heard her name. That is why I asked you to accompany 
me to-day.” 

I sighed, thinking of Miss Haldane. And this is 
what she has come to,” I said. 

“ Yes,” said Barlow. She has the world at her feet, 
this girl whom you saved from drowning in the lake of 
lilies. ” 

We lingered by the rails till she came round a third 
time, and again her eyes travelled in my direction, and 
rested a moment upon me, as before. My presence did not 
appear to discompose her ; she was as completely self- 
possessed and composed as if we had never met before. 

Come and have a cut of mutton with me,” said Bar- 
low, an hour or so later, “ at the namesake of a friend of 
yours in the Strand.” 

We strolled to Simpson’s, and had a good old-fashioned 
English dinner there, and afterwards went to a theatre 
where they were playing a rattling farce, mis-called comedy. 
Strangely enough — it is always so ; it never rains but it 
pours — in the principal box sat Honoria, dressed with ele- 
gant taste, with flashing diamonds about her. We were in 
the pit, and had a good view of her box, in which, between 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


215 


the acts, appeared a succession of gentlemen swells. I saw 
but little of the farce, my attention being centred upon 
this girl, once so low, now so shamefully high. 

Let us get another peep at her,’’ said Barlow, when the 
curtain finally fell 

We hurried to the lobby entrance of the stalls where 
the visitors were waiting for their carriages, and there I 
witnessed another comedy, as unexpected as Honoria’s 
appearance in Eotten Row earlier in the day. As she 
came out to her carriage, leaning on the arm of a gilded 
youth, Barlow nudged me smartly, and there, to my sur- 
prise, was Mr. Louis Redwood, gazing at the girl he had 
betrayed. He hesitated only a moment, and then, with a 
confident air, with outstretched hand, and with a smile 
upon his face, advanced towards her. She gazed at him 
with superb disdain, and without bestowing any further 
attention upon him, turned her back upon him. In an- 
other moment she was in her carriage, and the smile on 
Mr. Redwood’s face vanished ; the '' cut direct ” was per- 
fect, and people were laughing at him. 

Barlow and I talked of the incident as we walked 
away, and I expressed my surprise at Mr. Redwood’s 
eagerness to be friendly with Honoria. 

Know the world better, old friend,” said Barlow. 
‘‘This girl of ours is a marvel of beauty, and men of loose 
fashion are running wild after her.” 

“Yes,” I said, “it is her beauty that made him so 
eager.” 

“ Wrong once more,” said Barlow. “ It is not her beauty 
that attracts him now. We run after the unattainable; 
w^e despise what is easily obtained ; we value things, more 
or less, not for what they are, but for the ease or the dif- 
ficulty in getting hold of them. If the girl were as ugly 
as sin it would be the same to Mr. Redwood. She is a rare 
commodity, and he sighs for possession. You are familiar 
with a little fish called the sprat ? ” 

“ Of course I am.” 

“ A most delicate, most appetizing fish, but being plen- 
tiful can be bought for a penny a pound. Make them arj 


216 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


scarce as rad mullet, and the world would rave after them. 
As it will one day after Honoria, if she plays her cards 
well.” 

I make no comment on this scrap of philosophy. My 
task is ended, and I lay down my pen. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


217 


rHE THIRD LINK-FASHIONED OF LET- 
TERS WRITTEN BY LOVERS AND 
FRIENDS, FALSE AND TRUE. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

From Frederick Parton^ Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand, to 
G. Parton, Esq,, Westminster Palace road, London. 

My dear father, — My last, and first, letter written to you 
from Australia informed you of the safe arrival of our ves- 
sel at Melbourne, and was necessarily short, because I had 
just one hour to make up my mind whether I would 
accompany a friend I made on the passage out, who, hear- 
ing of the discovery of gold in New Zealand,* urged 
upon me that it was just the place in which fame 
and fortune could be quickly won. I allowed my- 
self to be persuaded. My friend had been in Australia 
before, and he told me that it would be slow work in 
Australia to make money ; the gold fields there were well- 
nigh worked out, the excitement and the fever were over, 
people had settled down, and so on, and so on, and so on. 
I saw the force of his remarks ; here was a new land, with 
new opportunities and glowing possibilities waiting for 
me. Done with you,” I said, and an hour later we were 
on board the Eureka — what a name I it was an augury 
of success — with four or five hundred other adventurers. 


*It may be necessary to state that Frederick is not chrono- 
logically correct in his reference to the discovery of geld in New 
Zealand, but this is a license of which a writer of fiction may 
legitimately avail himself. — THE AUTHOR. 


218 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


bent on the same errand as myself. Only I had a special 
motive which others lacked to spur me on, the love of the 
sweetest girl that ever drew breath since Eve roamed with 
Adam through the groves of Paradise. I see you, dear old 
fellow, shaking your head, and sighing, Dreams, Fred, 
dreams ! Will you never awake ? And I answer, “ No, 
never.” Why ? Because I am not dreaming, because I 
hold fast to Hope, the fairy that touches reality with 
golden light, that shows me the road to the future, when 
all my hopes will be realized, and you and I, and one whom 
I devotedly love, will be living together the happy life. 
Father mine, what made you a painter and a poet ? The 
solid, serious view of a man’s life and a man s ambition, or 
that very fairy Hope which, with the higher spirit Ambi- 
tion, directed you into paths which made you what you 
are ? You lost your fortune. Well, I am going to make 
another for you and her. The diary I kept on the passage 
from England to Australia, and which I sent you with my 
first brief letter (making up, I trust, for its shortcomings), 
will show whether I lost courage on the way ; and let me 
say now that I am stouter-hearted than ever, and that 
though my pockets at present are poorly lined, I am con- 
fident that what you call dreams will one day, and at no 
distant day either, be proved to be realities. What an in- 
centive is mine ! I am coming back to you when my fortune 
is made. I am coming back to her I love ; years of delight 
and happiness are before us ; arm in arm and heart in 
heart, we shall talk of the harvest the wanderer has reaped 
for those near and dear to him, and you shall say, “ Well 
done, Fred; you were right and I was wrong — happily 
so.” 

Now, arriving in Dunedin safe and sound, the question 
was what should I do ? The pilot who boarded us and 
conveyed us into Port Chalmers had set the whole ship in 
a state of excitement by reports of wonderful discoveries of 
new goldfields. Transferred at Port Chalmers into a small 
steam tug that took us through the loveliest bay in the 
world to Dunedin jetty, the news was confirmed. As for 
scenery I cannot describe it ; my sketch book is filled with 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


219 


themes for future work — and glory — to say nothing of the 
gold pieces which will roll in to sweeten success. A pictur- 
esque tumbledown wooden jetty, to be replaced one day by 
a stately stone structure (for I see the grand future already 
looming), crowds of people burning with the gold fever, 
wooden shanties hastily thrown up to transact business in, 
the old Scotch settlers scarcely knowing whether to approve 
or not of the invasion of heterogeneous human particles, but 
at the same time, with proverbial wisdom, turning the 
honest penny and making hay while the sun shines, adven- 
turers bronzed with travel discussing the chances in the 
unformed street, the continual animated going to and fro, 
the loading of drays, the clattering of horses, the perspec- 
tive glimpses of civilization’s soldiers marching over the 
distant hills — imagine all this, father, if you can, and paint 
pictures from it. But a man’s eyes must behold these 
scenes to properly depict them. They are like a page of 
old time history, full of romance and color. Said the 
friend in whose comjoany I journeyed hither, “ Off we go 
to-morrow morning to the goldfields ; in six months we 
come back with our fortunes made.” But pride and pru- 
dence stepped in and whispered in my ear. Said prudence, 
‘‘ How can you start on such a journey with empty pockets?” 
Said pride, ‘‘Don’t humiliate yourself by a confession of 
poverty.” Therefore spake I to my friend, “I cannot 
accompany you ; here in this primitive city of wonders will 
I stay awhile, and rest my weary feet, and refresh my 
spirit, and strengthen my body for future toil.” (What 
have you to say, father, to the style biblical? Does 
it sit well on me?) My friend remonstrated, argued, 
pressed, but I was firm, and away he went, the nomad, 
in company with a hundred or two others, straight 
in the eye of the sun. I to a newspaper office and 
there enlisted for a pound a day. So behold me, a 
budding journalist, bent on work and shekels. Here have 
I been three weeks, and am sixty shillings the richer, after 
paying board and lodging — no joke, though mutton is two- 
pence a pound. I sit me down and i3encil out calculations 
as to how long it will take me to realize a large fortune. 


220 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


putting riches by to the tune of twenty shillings a week. 
Humph ! Eather a lugubrious outlook, if the calculation 
were to turn out an exact one. But this is only a be- 
ginning. When you build you must commence with single 
bricks. Then every hour of the twenty-four, and every 
minute of the sixty, are not swamped by journalistic 
duties. Two water-colors are near completion, and the 
next question will be to find purchasers. Are there art 
worshippers here, are there rich patrons eager to draw 
large cheques as an evidence of the wedding of grinding 
commerce and intellectual refinement and taste ? The 
landlord of the principal hotel here, who boasts of taking 
a thousand pounds a day across his bars, suggests a raffle. 
By the beard of Venus which never grew, am I descended 
so low ? But why should I fume ? Are there not art 
lotteries in England, and what is a lottery but a raffle ? It 
is a distinction without a difference. We must not be over 
nice in these new lands. The mail for dear home does not 
go out for twelve days, and before it closes I shall be able 
to tell you the result of my first art labor in this world-end 
Arcadia. I break off my letter here, and go to bed, to dream 
of you and my dear Agnes. These are dreams in which I 
have faith. 

Now to finish my letter, dear old fellow, the mail 
closing to-morrow morning The raffle has come off. 
There was more than a spice of grim humor in it. The 
pictures were hung in the public room of the hotel, 
flanked by a couple of German chromos, hideous and 
offensive to the cultivated artistic eye. Said I to my- 
self, said I, “ My paintings will teach those honest 
barbarians, will educate them, will prepare them for 
future works of glory.’’ Puffed up with unbecoming pride 
— Ah, my dear father, if I had your humility I should 
be an infinitely better man ; blessings on your honest 
heart ! — puffed up then, as aforesaid, I lingered in the public 
room of the hotel, to take a lesson from the critical opin- 
ions of entranced admirers. There were none expressed, 
absolutely none. The pictures were scarcely glanced at. 

We’ll wake them up,” said my friend and landlord, and 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


221 


beneath the great achievements was placed a placard with 
a written intimation that the first original local paintings 
by an eminent artist would be raffled on Saturday night at 
half-a-crown a chance. Two blank columns were left for the 
names of my patrons, and when I first saw this announce- 
ment I noted that ten chances had already been subscribed 
for. I remonstrated with the landlord, who had put up the 
placard without consulting me. What do you object to,” 
he asked. To the low terms of subscription,” I replied, 
employing the most dignified phrase that occurred to me. 

Quite enough,” said the landlord. “ Look at those pic- 
tures” — pointing to the hideous German chromos — '' can 
you compare them with yours ? ” No,” said I honestly, 
‘‘ I cannot.” More can I,” said the landlord, and they 
only cost me four pound a pair.” Imagine my feelings. 
When I recovered my composure I pointed out that the 
number of members required for the coming raffle was not 
stated. ‘‘ We’ll get as many as we can,” said the landlord. 
‘‘ The more the merrier.” I said nothing, but thought sadly 
of the converse of the popular saying. In two days the 
number of subscribers had swelled to twenty-eight, which 
would bring me in a total of three pounds ten shillings. De- 
pressed by the prospect of my attempt at art culture I 
suggested that the pictures should be withdrawn. Can’t 
be done,” said the landlord. '' People have paid their half- 
crowns. The paintings are not your property.” I immed- 
iately put my name down for six chances, and invested my 
money, the stern stipulation being that no credit would be 
given. By Saturday night there were forty-six subscribers 
to the raffle, and my two great works, which I had fondly 
hoped would bring me at least fifty pounds each, were won 
by the proprietor of the cigar emporium. (Take note, 
there are no shops here, nothing so low.) “Now” 
said the landlord, “ you must stand treat.” I was aghast, 
but a gentleman, called upon for a sacrifice “accord- 
ing to custom,” never turns tail. Every person in 
the large room had a drink at my expense, and so far as 
I was concerned there was an end to my art venture. 
Except the settling up. Contemplate the figures. Forty- 


222 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


six subscribers at half a crown a head (less my own six 
chances) come to exactly five pounds. The frames for the 
pictures cost me fifty shillings ; the “ treat,” three pounda 
six shillings ; total debt, five pounds sixteen shillings ; 
total loss, sixteen shillings ; and my meritorious paintings. 
“ But youVe made a start,” said the landlord, congratulat- 
ing me on !.he venture. Truly I have. Farewell art awhile. 
I must come down to earth, for this rate of progress 
resembles the man walking on ice who for every step for- 
ward slides two backward. 

Now, my dear father, I want you to let me know all 
about my dear Agnes — how she is, what she says, how she 
looks, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. What does she think 
of my diary of the passage across the seas. Heavens! 
What a waste of water divides us ! But I look forward, 
I look forward, and am not in the least discouraged. As 
you know, I have bound myself to write to her only once 
in every six months, and the first term is not yet expired. 
There is nothing to prevent you sending her my letters to 
you, and she will know from them that my love is 
unchanged, that it can ne\'er change, and that the one dear 
hope of my life is to call her wife. Tell her that I am 
going to be practical. Fortunes are being made on the 
goldfields. I shall go there, and make one for her. Then 
I can ask her father for his consent to our union, which I 
am conscious I cannot do, with any chance of success, while 
I remain poor. I have the fullest faith in her, as she has 
in me. God bless her, and you, my dear father. Address 
your letters to the post ofl&ce in this city. — Your affection- 
ate son, FREDERICK.” 

From G, Parton, Westminster, Palace road, London, to 
Frederick Par ton. Esq., Post Office, Dunedin, Otago> 
New Zealand. 

“ My dear Boy, — Your two letters, one from Australia, 
the other from New Zealand, with the diary you kept 
on the passage out, have been safely delivered, and I reply 
to them by the first opportunity. I sent them to Miss 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


223 


Haldane, Chuclleigh Park, under cover to Miss Rachel 
Diprose, in accordance with your directions, and I have 
received them back, with a note from Agnes, in which she 
desires me to give you her love, and sends you as many 
kind messages as the fondest love could desire. You ask 
me to tell you how she is, how she looks, and what she says. 
She says she is well, and she writes as you do, cheerfully and 
hopefully, but 1 have no means of discovering ho\/ she looks. 
Mr. Haldane and I are cousins, it is true, but as wide as the 
waste of waters between you and those at home who love 
you is the gulf between him and me. At no time of life 
were he and I on terms of very friendly intimacy, and our 
circumstances being so different, it is by no means probable 
that of his seeking we should be brought nearer to each 
other. To go to Chudleigh Park without an invitation 
would be courting an affront, and would not advance your 
cause. Were Agnes to pay another ’visit to London, and to 
stop, as she did on her previous visits, with friends who do 
not think less of us because we are not rich, I should be 
able to see her and to chat with her about you ; but she says 
nothing of a contemplated visit, and I judge from her silence 
that there is little probability of an early meeting. You 
know how fully and completely I sympathize with you in 
your hopes of the future, and I shall say nothing to cast a 
shadow on them. There are youthful dreams which happily 
come to fruition. May yours be of that nature 1 Your 
account of the tw^o pictures you painted is amusing, and 
going out as you have done to a new country with practical 
intentions you are wise in your resolution to throw aside 
the brush, and engaging in those pursuits in which money is 
most easily made. I am afraid I have not been |wise in 
your education. With my own example before me — 
a failure as an artist, whatever you may think — I should 
have given you a commercial education, which would have 
made you fitter for your present career. However, like you, I 
am not one to uselessly mourn over a past that cannot be re- 
called, and I hope for the best. I am painting two pictures 
for the Academy ; is not that a proof that I have still with 
me Hope your fairy, and that I do not intend to beat a 


224 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


retreat from the ranks in which many better men than I 
are struggling ? Cherish that fairy, my dear boy — always 
open your arms and your heart to it ; whatever the result, 
it will brighten your days and nerve your arm. How well 
I remember my first x\cademy picture ! It is a good many 
years ago, and I can count on my fingers the number of 
ray pictures that have gained admission since that time. 
I have told you the story often — how it was sold, how I 
used to walk the streets with a light heart, not with arro- 
gance, but with just pride, thinking that I had painted the 
picture of which some influential papers spoke highly, and 
that a few of the persons who passed me might possibly 
know that I was the artist. I never sold another picture 
off the Academy walls, but I am waiting, my boy, I am 
waiting, and you or I will make a fortune yet. I wish I 
could paint Agnes’ portrait ; I feel confident I could make 
a success of it : with a face so sweet and pure before me I 
should be inspired, and you should see what you should 
see. Am I not writing to you with an airy spirit ? Ah ! 

but my dear lad, you httle know how I miss you. But 

there, I am not going to say a word to sadden you ; better 
burn the letter than send it to my wanderer across the seas 
who is seeking the worldly charm which will secure the hap- 
piness of himself and his father and the girl he loves. Until 
you went away I used to grumble at time passing so 
quickly, but now it cannot pass too quickly for me, for it 
will hasten the day of our reunion. Everybody who knows 
you inquires after you, and everybody sends you the kind- 
est messages. God bless and speed you. 

Your loving father, 

"G. BARTON.” 

From Frederick Parton, Otago, New Zealand, to Miss 
Haldane, under cover to Miss Rachel Diprose, Manor 
Hall, Chudleigh Park. 

My darling Agnes, — At last the first six months are 
over, and I can write to you. I wonder sometimes how it 
’VV’as that I gave you the promise to write only once in 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


225 


every six months, and then my wonder vanishes when I 
think it was because you asked me, fearing that if I wrote 
frequently it might set your father against me before the 
day arrived when I shall feel myself warranted to ask his 
consent to - our union. It is a happiness to me that the 
severe penance is lightened by my father’s letters, who 
gives me as much news of you as it is in his power to com- 
municate. My dear Agnes, I think of you day and night, 
and it is your dear image that cheers my lonely hours and 
sustains my courage. You have heard from my father of 
my unpromising start, which had something comical in it, 
and of my determination to seek fortune on the goldfields. 
Here am I, then, in my digger garb, with beard well grown, 
and so unlike my London self, that were you to meet me in 
the street you would hardly recognize me. In order that 
you may not make that mistake (in the event of a geni 
taking it into his magical head to perform a miracle with 
you and me), I draw a picture of myself as I am, which I 
think will surprise you. 

Now, what shall I say to you, my darling girl, how 
shall I write, I, upon whom fickle fortune has not yet 
smiled ? But there is time, there is time. I am in a Tom 
Tiddler’s ground, and every day I hear of men drawing 
grand prizes. It will be my turn one day ; it must be my 
turn, for I have you and love on my side, and the charm 
will be sure to succeed. The truth, then, is, my darling, 
that I am no richer at this moment than when I first set 
foot on these shores. I am in good health, and I do not 
intend to lose heart. Up early in the morning, working 
till sunset, earning the respect of those around me, never 
forgetting that I am a gentleman, whispering your dear 
name as a charm, and going to sleep with your image in 
my mind. I have a comrade (they call them ' mates’ out 
here), and we manage to find enough gold to keep us, but 
there is the ch.ancc every hour of finding a big nugget or 
striking a ^ rich patch.’ A sailor who had been working 
for four months, and who has been so unlucky as to come 
to liis last bit of ' bacca,’ suddenly plumps upon what is 
/called a ^ pocket ’ of gold. Presto ! In three weeks he makes 


*126 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

four thousand ounces — just think of it ! — and off he ^oes 
home to settle down with his old mother and his sweetheart 
in Wales. A miner from Cornwall, similarly unlucky, all at 
once drives his pick into a nest of nuggets, gold birds, large 
and small, and sends money home to bring his people out 
to the country where he has made his fortune. So you see, 
my darling girl, it is only a matter of time : the longer 
good fortune is a-coming, the brighter is her smile when she 
shows her face. And I woo her, and woo her, and whisper 
to the invisible goddess, ‘ For my dear girl’s sake, come, 
now, for the sake of the dearest, dearest girl in the world !’ 
I give you my word that I utter these words in my most 
coaxing accents, and that I go to work agaiiji refreshed and 
strengthened by them, with the conviction that my plead- 
ings will not be in vain. We live in a tent like the 
patriarchs of old, a fitting simile, for at no very great dis- 
tance from us is a sheep and cattle station where I am 
always welcome — I walk there sometimes of a Sunday, a 
matter of twelve miles, easily done on the soft bush roads 
in three hours — the owner of which, Eton man like my- 
self, is master of seventy thousand sheep. As I gaze 
upon his enormous flocks I think of biblical days when Jacob 
wooed Rebecca, but I do not want to wait so long for my 
dear girl. Words are poor to express all I feel ; dearly as I 
loved you when I left England I love you still more dearly 
now. You are my good genius, my good angel, ever by my 
side. I walk with you through the woods, I sit on a fallen 
tree and talk to you, your spirit is in my heart. Think of 
me always as your true and faithful lover, who never lays 
his head upon his pillow without thanking God for the 
priceless blessing of your love. My dear girl, does your 
father know ? Have you told him yet ? Keep nothing 
from me. He cannot object to me on the score of birth ; it 
is only that dreadful bugbear money, money, money. I 
will work and wait for it, and you shall hear from me that 
our wishes are realized. Do not doubt it, darling. I do 
not. Heaven guard and shield you and keep you bright 
and happy till I hold you in my arms. With undying 
affection, believe me, ever your faithful lover, 

FREDERICK.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


^27 


"'From Agnes Haldane ^ Chudleigh Park, to Frederick Parton 
New Zealand, 

" My dearly beloved, — Your letter made me happy, so hap- 
py ! I have read it so many times that I must know it by heart, 
but I keep on reading it, for it brings you nearer to me. I 
have not the gift of writing long letters, and you must be 
content with a short one, with all my heart in it. I blame 
myself very often for being the cause of your leaving Eng- 
land, and going so far away from us ; if it had not been 
for me you would have remained at home with your father, 
who must feel the separation very much. Do not be away 
too long, but be sure, my dear, whether you are absent for 
a long or a short time, I will be true to you, and will wait 
for you — yes, till I am an old, old woman. I hoped long 
since to have gone to London on a visit, when I should 
have seen your father, but papa decided that I was not to 
leave the Manor Hall, where we are living very quietly, 
papa having been abroad now for several months. I ought 
to tell you, dear, but you must not distress yourself about 
it, for nothing can change me. There is a gentleman who 
has been li^ere a great deal, and papa would be glad if I en- 
couraged his attentions. His name is Mr. Louis Redwood, 
and I do not like him, though papa wishes me to. It 
seems to me that Mr. Redwood understands this, for he has 
not been to Chudleigh since papa left, and has not troubled 
me in any way. I only tell you of him because I think it 
right you should know all that takes place. I have writ- 
ten to papa two or three times, asking him to let me go to 
London for a few weeks, but his answer is always no. And 
now you must know something else. I am not very wise, 
but I have been considering a certain thing lately, and 
when papa comes home I shall tell him all about you and 
me. I feel that I am acting wrongly in keeping our 
secret from him ; it is my fault, I know, that this was 
not done at first, but I was a little afraid of the way 
papa would take it. Seeing now what it is right to do, I 
shall have the courage to do it, and I am sure you will 
approve. Well, now, this is all about myself, and nothing 


228 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


about you. What a wonderful life you are living, and 
how strange it must all seem to you. I ( et all the books I 
can about Australia and New Zealand, and I know a great 
deal now about those countries. Rachel Diprose, my maid 
— such a good girl ! — has an uncle there, and she says it is 
a splendid life, though she is all for London, where she has 
never been, but where her sweetheart lives. He is ready 
and anxious to marry her, but the good, foolish girl will not 
hear of it. She will not leave me, she says (unless I turn 
her away, and I shall never do that, 1 like her so much) 
until I am married. It is not of the slightest use to argue 
with her ; she has made up her mind and has passed her 
word, and she says she will die rather than break it. See 
how firm women can be, and if I needed a lesson in firm- 
ness, which I don’t, dear, she would teach it to me. This 
is a longer letter than I thought I could write, and I hardly 
know whether it will satisfy you ; but perhaps you will be 
satisfied when I say that I am yours, and yours only, and 
that you may be sure I shall never love you less than now. 
My mind is easier now that I have determined to tell papa 
everything when I see him. Your letter strengthens me to 
do this. Good-bye for a little while, dear Frederick. I 
pray for you always, I think of you always. — With constant 
love, I am, ever yours, AGNES.” 

To Mr, G. Parton, Westminster Palace road, from Mr, 
Haldane, Manor Hall, Chudleigli Park, 

Sir, — Information has reached me that your son, Mr. 
Frederick Parton, has taken advantage of my absence dur- 
ing my daughter s visits to London to pay his addresses to 
her without my knowledge or sanction. Such conduct is 
scandalous, and unbecoming a gentleman, and hearing of 
it now for the first time I write to you without an hour’s 
delay to put a stop to the proceeding. I understand that 
your son is in one of the Australian colonies, and that he 
has had the presumption to open up a correspondence with 
my daughter. If I were acquainted with his precise 
address I should write to him direct, to the same effect as 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


229 


I am writing to you, and I demand liis address from you 
in order that I may express to him my opinion of his con- 
duct, which, I repeat, is not the conduct of a gentleman. 

I have views for my daughter with which I shall not allow 
him to interfere. You, as a father, will not contest itiy 
right to views in which my daughter’s welfare is concerned, 
and to the carrying of them out in the way I deem most 
suitable. Expecting to receive from you your son’s address 
in the colonies, and your concurrence to my demand that 
the clandestine intimacy shall instantly cease, I am, your 
obedient servant, C. HALDANE.” 

To C. Haldane Esq,, Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park,Jroni 
Mr, G, Par ton, Westminster Palace road. 

“ Sir, — I am in receipt of your letter, the contents of 
which I will communicate to my son. From the relation- 
ship between us, and my standing in society, though far 
from a rich man, I might reasonably have expected that 
you would have expressed yourself in different terms, with- 
out any regard to the views you hold of ‘ your daughter’s 
welfare,’ and I shall certainly not afford you the oppor- 
tunity of addressing my son in like manner. Therefore I 
refuse to give you his precise address. But as many weeks 
must elapse before he can hear what you have written to 
me upon a matter as important and dear to him as it is to 
you, I lose no time in correcting your opinion of his char- 
acter, an opinion which I trust you have too hastily 
expressed. My son is a gentleman, upright, honorable, and 
delicate-minded, and that you should pronounce his con- 
duct ' scandalous ’ reflects no credit upon you. I regret to 
be compelled to say this, but you leave me no alternative, 
and I, and your dear daughter, are perhaps the only per- 
sons in this part of the world who have the opportunity of 
telling you so to your face at the present moment. That 
he loves your daughter as a gentleman, and hopes to win 
her, is true, and the only bar I can perceive to the happy 
result of an honorable attachment is the difference in our 
circumstances. If, notwithstanding your letter, it should 


230 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


be his happy faste to be united to your daughter, I, who 
know my son as no other man knows him, and who knows 
something of the sweet and amiable qualities of your child, 
have no hesitation in declaring that their happiness would 
be* assured. It is best that I shall say no more. Time, 
which tries all, is a beneficent healer, and I place my hope 
in it. — Faithfully yours, 

" G. PARTON." 


“ To Mr. G. Parton, Westminster Palace road, from Mr. 
Haldane, Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park. 

'' Sir, — Your reply to my letter is impertinently worded, 
and is intended as an insult. It is not only an impertin- 
ence and an insult, it is a presumption. I shall know how 
to resent it, and in what manner to guard myself and 
daughter from its implied defiance to my wishes. You 
refuse to give me your son's address ; I will ol)tain it from 
my daughter. You are a dealer in sentiment and cant, and 
your son doubtless takes after you. — Your obedient ser- 
vant, HALDANE." 

To C. Haldane, Esq., Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park, from 
Mr. G. Parton, Westininster Palace road. 

'' Sir, — Letters addressed to my son at the Post Office, 
Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand, will reach him in that 
colony. — Faithfully yours, 

“G. PARTON." 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 

From G. Parton, London, to Frederick Parton, New Zea- 
land. 

My dear Boy, — The necessity of giving you pain is 
forced upon me. Enclosed you will find copies of four letters, 
two addressed to me by Mr. Haldane, and my replies there- 
to. I do not know if they will come upon you as a sur- 
prise ; Tou will certainly be unprepared, as I was, for Mr. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


231 


j Haldane's communications, and you must act the manly 
part, and meet them with a man's courage. The form in 
which he expresses his sentiments is not a graceful one, but 
we will set that aside ; it shows that he is bitterly, strongly 
in earnest, and it proves him to be a hard, unfeeling gentle- 
man. Here before us, my dear boy, is a battle of heads and 
hearts, and it has sometimes happened that hearts have won. 
You will perceive from this remark that I do not advise you 
1 to lay down your arms : it is a serious matter for a daughter 
i to go against her father’s wishes, but after all it rests with 
you and Agnes. If she sides with her father, which I do 
( not believe she will, you have no alternative but to retire ; 
if she says, I will be true to you,” then it will be for us 
to decide how to act in this grave crisis in two young lives. 
To deplore at this juncture the distance between you and 
, Agnes is to deplore the inevitable, and that it is never wise 
to do; the inevitable must be accepted, whatever the suf- 
fering brings in its train. Take courage, then, and before 
anything is settled — for Mr. Haldane is not the supreme 
judge against whose verdict there is no appeal — come to an 
understanding with Agnes. Remember that you have al- 
s ways your father s love ; through weal and woe I am faith- 
ful to my dear boy. — Ever your loving father, 

G. PARTON. 

From C, Haldane^ Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park, to Fred- 
^ erick Parton, Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand. 

I Sir, — I have with some difficulty obtained your address 

from your father, and I now write to you to express my 
opinion of your conduct in clandestinely following my 
daughter with your attentions, and in carrying on a cor- 
respondence with her without my sanction. No man of 
honor, no gentleman would pursue such a course, and I 
shall have no difficulty in exposing your true character to 
my child. In her name and my own I demand that you 
instantly cease writing to her or communicating with her 
in any way whatever. Should you presume to disregard 
my wishes I shall know how to deal with you. — Your obedi- 
ent servant, C. HALDANE. 


232 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


From Agnes Haldane, Chudleigh Park, to Frederick Parlon, 
New Zealand. 

My dearest Frederick, — I write to you in great grief. In 
my last letter I said that I intended telling papa everything, 
feeling it was not right that he should be left in ignorance 
of our attachment He came home last week, and I told 
him all. My dear Frederick, there was a dreadful scene ; he 
spoke of you in a way that I could not listen to quietly, and 
though I am not very brave I defended you as well as I 
could ; but what could I say when he asked me if I thought 
it was proper conduct on the part of a daughter to enter 
into such a serious engagement without the knowledge or 
consent of her father ? I could only answer one way, and 
beg his pai don. He said I could make some amends for my 
fault by promising him that I would not marry without his 
consent. Even if I had not felt that I had acted so wrongly 
I should have given him the promise, and I gave it more 
willingly because of that; and I was encouraged, too, because 
his passion seemed to be over. '' It is a binding promise, 
remember,’’ papa said, and 1 answered that I would keep to 
it. But O, dear Frederick, what have I done ? Papa says 
that he will never, never consent to our marriage, and he 
commanded me to give him all the letters I received from you 
and never to write to you again. But that I could not do, 
and though he talked to me a long time, telling me what 
my duty was, I would not give way. And now I am very 
unhappy, not only for myself but for you. I seem not to 
have a friend except my maid, Rachel, and she is as unhappy 
as I am, and cannot do anything to help me. But can any 
one do that so long as papa is against us ? I can only hope 
that he will be kinder when he finds out that I cannot obey 
him. Dear Frederick, I seem to be doing wrong whichever 
way I act. Papa stands on one side of me, and you on the 
other, and I am pulled both ways at once. I will be true 
to you, indeed, indeed I will, but if I had some one to 
counsel me I should feel happier. God bless you, dear 
Frederick. With all my love, believe me to be always 
yours. AGNES. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 233 

From Frederick Par ton, New Zealand, to C. Haldane, Esq,, 
Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park. 

Dear Sir, — I am in receipt of your letter, and I deeply 
regret the risk I run in adding to your displeasure when I 
say I cannot comply with your desire. It was wrong, I 
admit, in the first instance, to enter into an engagement 
with your dear daughter without your knowledge, but my 
sense of self-respect revolts against the opinion you express 
of my behaviour. On the occasions I met your daughter 
in London you were abroad, and my love for her grew and 
fastened itself upon me unaware. If you had been in 
London I think it certain that I should have spoken to you 
on the subject, and I might happily have succeeded in con- 
vincing you that an alliance with your family would have 
been neither discreditable nor dishonorable to you ; but 
you were far away, and I had no opportunity of meeting 
you. I do not seek to excuse myself; whatever blame 
attaches to this unhappy affair is mine alone ; but what I 
did was not deliberately done ; my feelings hurried me on 
until words were spoken which cannot be recalled. May I 
appeal, dear sir, to your recollections of yourself when you 
were young, when a man’s judgment is the slave of his 
heart, and feelings are involuntarily born within him which 
he cannot resist ? I intended, and intend, to do nothing 
dishonorable. There is no difference in our rank, and I beg 
I you to excuse me when I say that money cannot confer 
! distinction. I love your daughter truly and devotedly, and 
' it would be the aim of my life to make her life happy. I 
have come to this distant land in the hope of bettering my 
fortune, so that I might be able to offer her a home befit- 
ting her station. Up to this day I have not been successful, 
but fortunes are being made all around me, and I have not 
lost the hope which brought me here. You ask me to 
give up your daughter, and with all respect to you my 
answer must be that I cannot do so unless she bids me. 
Sustained by the belief that her heart is mine I shall live 
on the hope that time may soften your feelings towards 
us, and that the happiness to which we look forward may 
yet be ours. — I am, dear sir, faithfully vours, 

FREDERICK PARTON. 


234 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Frorn Frederick Parton, to Miss Haldane^ tinder cover to 
Miss Rachel Diprose, Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park, 

My darling Agnes, — What shall I say to you — how shall 
I write ? If it were not for the last lines in your dear 
letter I should despair, but while we are true to each other 
there must be light in the future which we may hope will 
shine upon us when our trials are happily ended. And 
still I cannot help reproaching myself for being the cause 
of your difficulty with your father. Had I been silent you 
would have been spared your present unhappiness. Your 
father wrote to me in anger, and I have replied to him, 
temperately I trust. My darling, I say to you what I said 
to him — I cannot give you up unless you bid me. To spare 
you a sorrow I would sacrifice my life, and gladly would I 
take all this suffering upon myself if it were in my power. 
You say you seem not to have a friend except your good 
maid Rachel. Do you forget my father ? He is the noblest, 
the truest of men, and there is nothing you could call upon 
him to do that he would shrink from doing. Heaven forbid 
that I should counsel you against your father, that I should 
ask you to forget a daughter's duty. You have promised him 
not to marry me without his consent, therefore, whether we 
ever come together rests with him. He should be content with 
this promise, knowing that we must both abide by it. The 
misery of my position is that I am no farther advanced 
than when I first landed in this colony. If I could go to 
him with fortune in my hands he would surely relent ; it 
is money only that separates us. If I could win it — if I 
could win it ! I will nerve myself my darling, I will work 
with all my strength, hoping for the best. I shall say to 
myself, ‘‘ Agnes loves me, my dear Agnes loves me ! " and 
with this talisman to strengthen me I shall struggle on, 
praying for success. Your prayers are with me, I know. 
Heaven will listen to our prayers, for they spring from 
faithful hearts. If I could only be near you — if I could 
only see your dear face ! But I must not, I will not repine. 
I sometimes think, If my dear girl were poor there would 
be no difficulty ; she would be equally dear to me." So 
that you see there are circumstances in which poverty 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


235 


would prove a blessing. But it is useless speculating in 
this fashion ; what we have to contend with is not what 
might l)e, but what is, and I must be hard and practical, for 
your sake and mine. My darling, to the last hour of my 
life I will be true and faithful to you. I shall ever be what 
I was from the first moment I saw you. — Your faithful 
lover, FREDERICK. 

From Louis Redwood, Esq., Queen Victoria Mansions, 
Westminster, London, to C. Haldane, Esq., Brevoorfs, 
New York, U, S. A. 

My dear Haldane, — What the devil has sent you off to 
America so suddenly, and why did you not ask me to 
accompany you ? Here I am just arrived from Nice, after 
a cursed bad time at the tables, (dropped eighteen thousand 
in three days ; very refreshing), with a little imp in petti- 
coats to make it worse, to find the Haldane bird flown 
without having the grace to offer the shelter of its wings to 
its best friend. But perhaps the said wing is sheltering 
something more attractive than a man of the masculine 
gender. What is it, Haldane ? Another little affair ? At 
your age too ! I am ashamed of you. I am tempted to 
turn over a new leaf myself. The devil was sick,” et cetera, 
et cetera. Didn’t relish leaving my bullion behind me at 
Monte Carlo, and the aforesaid petticoated imp has been 
playing high jinks with yours truly. I’m tired of her tan- 
trums and have made up my mind to settle down. Honor 
bright. It will be a change — a fresh experience — to have 
someone tied to a fellow he can’t shake off with a cheque. 
This is leading up to what follows ; opening up the case, as 
the lawyers say. 

Talking of lawyers, there it is, you see ? I’m a devilish 
clever fellow to introduce the firm so deftly. Lamb and 
Freshwater, Bedford row. We know those chaps vvell ; 
they’ve made a fortune out of me and mine, but I must do 
them the justice to say that I never got into a difficulty 
they didn’t get me out of. But that’s not the point, which 
is, mortgage. Chudleigh’s a pretty place, but I don’t want 
to foreclose. I’d sooner it fell to me in an amicable way, 


236 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


and for five weeks out of the fifty-two it would do, with 
the right sort of spirits about one. Not a bit of good with- 
out a pretty hostess to do the honors. You're of a shrewd 
breed, and can guess what’s coming. Fact is, I’m tired of 
waiting, as the song says. 

Lamb & Freshwater, the dear (the very dear) solicitors, 
pointing to the mortgage deeds, murmur, One hundred and 
twenty thousand ! ” which you will admit is a good round 
sum, and insinuatingly ask me, "" What is to be done ? ” 
That’s the rub, Haldane. Am I in want of the money ? 
Do my last pair of boots require soleing and heeling ? I 
think not. My thieving valet has not called my attention 
to the state of my wardrobe, so I infer I am still present- 
able. My bank book’s all right, and the manager receives 
me with smiles. I am so beastly rich, you see. Then why 
do I lug in the trifling sum you owe me ? Not the only 
account between us — excuse my mentioning it, but my 
back’s up. I’m not going to be trifled with much longer. 
It wouldn’t take the twentieth part of the time to tell you 
all this (and more to come) that it does in writing it down 
fairly and squarely, but if you will run away when you’re 
wanted I’m bound to grind it out on paper. There’s that 
other sum you want paid into your bankers before the end 
of the half-year. I’m the most complaisant fellow in the 
world ; I can spare it, and you shall have it, but you must 
give me, besides the moderate interest, another sort of 
quid pro quo. I want a sweety, Haldane, and I want it all 
the more because it’s been promised me so long, and as 
matters stand it is just as far off to-day as it was at the 
beginning. (See Prayer Book.) I am sick of playing 
patience. There’s a ripe peach on your wall, and I’m grow- 
ing dangerously savage. Plain writing’s the order of the 
day. Therefore, boon companion and friend of my soul, 
take timely heed. A nod’s as good as a wink. 

I cannot recollect that we have ever come to a perfectly 
formal understanding as to this very lovely and luscious 
peach. In friendly conversation I have pointed to it and 
spoken about it, and your pleasant answer has been 
“ Gather it, my dear Louis ; I give it to you freely ; coU' 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


237 


sider ifc yours.'’ Consider it mine I But there it hangs. I 
have wooed it, coaxed it, tempted it, paid incense to it, 
prostrated myself before it, and there, I repeat, it hangs 
upon your wall for any hands to pluck when it is in the 
humor to say, I am willing ; " but to me those words 
have never been spoken. My dear Haldane, you must put 
pressure upon your peach, you must exercise authority, or 
— take the consequences. In plain set terms I ask for your 
fair daughter’s hand. It is yours to command, hers to obey, 
mine to worship and endow. Do not doubt that I am pre- 
pared to be very liberal in the settlements. A longer delay 
will be dangerous. Act instantly and firmly, and your 
difficulties are over. We will kneel at your feet, and you 
shall give us your blessing. We shall make a pretty 
couple, and you will gain in me another child whose virtues 
you have already appreciated. My wife shall work you a 
pair of slippers, or buy them ready made, and in your old 
age you shall have a corner by our fireside. Could any 
man be more filial ? 

I must request you to reply to this letter without delay. 
Lamb & Freshwater are getting impatient, and a simple 
fellow like myself must submit to be guided by his legal 
advisers. If you take my advice you will come home very 
soon ; your presence may be required. Meanwhile I sub- 
scribe myself, prospectively, your dutiful son-in-law. 

I LOUIS REDWOOD, 

i' 

f Cable Message, from Haldane, New York, to Redwood, 
London. 

I write to my daughter by this mail, ordering her to 
receive your addresses. Letter to you, also, by this mail. 
Shall be home in four or five weeks. 

From C. Haldane, Esq., New York, to Louis Redwood, 
Esq., London. 

My dear Louis, — Were I inclined I might quarrel with 
you for the tone of your letter, but my feelings for you are 
entirely friendly, and you should be satisfied by this time 
that you have my cordial consent to your proposal, Agnes 


238 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


is very young, and girls of her age are inclined to be coy, 
therefore you must not be too impatient. I will leave it to 
your discretion to speak or write to her upon the receipt of 
this letter (I am writing to her by the same mail), or to 
wait till I return to England. You are generally inclined 
to follow your own bent, and I have no doubt you will do 
so in this instance; therefore, I do not advise you. As to 
the money matters between us I rely upon the assurances 
you have given me that I shall not be pressed or harassed. 

I have had bad luck for a long time past, and for my son- 
in-law that is to be to play the Shy lock would be altogether 
too bad, in other words infernally unfilial. Lamb and 
Freshwater be hanged ; you are the captain of the ship. 
By^ the way, I said in my cable that I should be home in 
four or five weeks. It might be six. Restrain your im- 
patience, my dear Louis ; Rome was not built in a day, and 
your experience of women must have taught you that they 
are often difficult to manage. Pay that money into my 
bank as soon as possible ; rolling in coin as you are (there 
can be no possible question of inconvenience.) You lucky 
rake 1 What would I not give to be in yourslioes ? — Yours 
truly, C. HALDANE. 

From C. Haldane, Esq,, New York, to Miss Haldane, 
Manor Hall, Chudleigh Park, 

My dear Daughter, — I am about to write to you on a 
very serious matter, and you must understand that I ex- 
pect a dutiful compliance with my wdshes. We have al- 
ready spoken together on the same (subject,) and your ob- 
stinacy has deeply w^ounded me. After all I have done for ' 
you I have the right to command, but I would prefer that 
you should give a willing consent to my wishes. 

Mr. Louis Redwood, a gentleman and a man of honor, 
has formally proposed for your hand, and I have consented 
to your union with him. He has shown you constant 
attention, and his devotion is a guarantee that he will make , 
you a good husband ; added to which I approve of him. In 
the last conversation you and I had on this subject I dis- j 
puted your right to oppose me in a matter upon which I am ' 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


239 


SO much a better judge tlian yourself. You are very young, 
and very inexperienced ; you know nothing whatever of 
the world and of the traps which designing men set for a 
lady of your birth and position. You must be guided by 
me ; it will be for your good ; you will confess it by-and- 
by. Mr. Redwood is of a suitable age ; he moves m the 
best society ; he is good-looking and enormously rich. My 
estates will be settled on you ; you will have a house in 
London, with surroundings which cannot fail to make you 
happy ; and your affianced (I, your father, to whom you 
owe obedience, regard him as such) will gratify every wish 
of your heart. What more could any lady desire ? 

You have spoken to me of some girlish fancy to which 
you have unreasonably clung. If you cling to it still you 
must set it aside. I will not blame you for it ; such fan- 
cies are part of the experiences of most young people, and 
they are always forgotten and smiled at in the future. 
Life has more serious duties, and you must perform them, 

I as every other person does. There is not a lady in Eng- 
i land who would not joyfully accept the offer which Mr. Red- 
I wood makes to you. He does us great honor, and you are 
i most fortunate to have won the love of such a man. I 
I have, I think, said enough to induce you, if you need 
inducement, to listen to him favorably, and to make me 
: happy. Fully convinced that you will offer no further 
obstacles to an alliance upon which I have set my heart, I 
am, mv dear Amies, your affectionate Father, 

C. HALDANE. 

! From Louis Redwood, Esq,, Queen Elizabeth Mansions, 

I Westminster, to Miss Haldane, Manor Hall, Chud- 
high Park 

My dearest Agnes, — I have your father s sanction to 
j address you on a subject very dear to me, and I hope to 
you. I flatter myself that you can have mistaken my 
attentions as little as you can doubt my devotion. As a 
writer of love letters I do not think I should shine ; as a 
husband I should. I lay my heart at j^our feet ; open Par- 
adise to me, by consenting to become my wife. This is not 
so bad for a commencement. 


240 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


You shall have everything you wish ; I will refuse you 
nothing ; an establishment in town, in the country, on the 
continent. If you want to stop at home, we will stop at 
home ; if you want to travel, we will travel ; you shall 
command me in every way. I dare say you know I am rich, 
for which I thank my stars : spend my money for me, and 
make me a happy man. I might have waited till your 
father returned home, before making my proposal, but I 
could not stand the delay. I am burning to know my fate ; 
do not keep me in suspense. Kindly accept the accompany- 
ing trifles. I have selected them with the greatest care, 
but if the stones and settings are not to your liking we will 
have them altered. I am urging your father to hasten 
home ; I want him to advise me about carriages and horses. 
You will have to come to town when he returns, and 
your taste shall be followed in everything. — Your devoted 
lover, LOUIS REDWOOD. 

From Miss Haldane to her Fathe7\ 

My dear Father, — I am very, very sorry that I cannot do 
as you wish. Before you left home I told you so, and I am 
not changed. I do not love Mr. Redwood, and I cannot 
marry him. Were my heart not engaged I could not accept 
him ; in my own defence I am forced to say that I do not 
believe him to be a good or a sincere man. I may be wrong, 
but I cannot help saying what I feel. My dear father, his 
riches would not make me happy ; I would not mind being 
poor with the man I love ; with Mr. Redwood, my life 
would be a life of deceit and misery. I beg you to forgive 
me; the thought of your displeasure makesme very wretched; 

I wdll do anything you ask, but this I cannot. I have 
already promised you that I will not marry without your 
consent, and if you withhold it I must remain as I am. 
My dear father, I write in love and duty, but I cannot be | 
false to the dictates of my heart. — Your loving and unhappy 
daughter. AGNES. 

From Miss Haldane, to Louis Redwood, Esq. 

Dear Sir, — I feel honored by the proposal you have ! 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


241 


made to me, and regret that I cannot accept it. I have 
told my father so in a letter. Trustmgyou will meet another 
girl who will be worthier of you than myself, I remain, 
yours respectfully, AGNES HALDANE. 

From Louts Redwood, Esq,, London, to C, Haldane, Esq., 
New York. 

Dear Haldane, — I enclose j-our daughter’s reply to my 
proposal, and I hope you will like it. If I’m not mistaken 
you will find it an expensive piece of paper. Short and 
sweet, is it not — damned short and sweet ? But I’ll make 
it short and sweet for you if she doesn’t take it back — and 
pretty quick, too. I sent her a model of a love letter ; took 
me almost a day to put it in form ; I worried over it like a 
terrier; and this is the answer she treats me with. She 
doesn’t even condescend to mention a case of jewels I sent 
her — cost me over a thousand pounds — but despatches them 
back to me without a word, the case unopened. I know it 
hasn’t been opened, by a little trap-mark I set on it. I’m 
not much of a Christian, Haldane, any more than you are 
yourself. When I get a slap on one side of my face I show 
my teeth, and those who abuse me live to j’epent it. What 
do you think ? Lamb & Freshwater have been on to me 
again about that mortgage ; andyou’ll receive a notice from 
them by this mail. Funny coincidence, is it not ? I have 
not paid that money you ask for into your bank — that’s 
funny, too. Fact is, I’m riled. 

Do I give up the hunt? No — and here’s your chance, 
your only chance, if all you’ve told me is true. Perhaps 
you’ll talk of my throwing you over. I don’t throw 
you over, but you know what the inducement has 
been. And now the prize is to be snatched from 
me. Very well. I’ll have some satisfaction for 
! it; I’ll sell you and your daughter up. See how she 
likes that. I’m not blind or deaf, Haldane ; there’s another 
fellow in the way. If you aren’t clever enough to shunt 
him off, take the consequences. It’s quite as much your 
affair as mine. I’m playing the magnanimous in not retir- 
ing from the field at once, and leaving the affair entirely 


242 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


in the hands of Lamb & Freshwater, but I confess I 
don't like to be beat, and I'll hold on a wliile longer. Lamb 
and Freshwater inform me that the mortgage must be paid 
off or renewed this very day two months. If you can't 
cash up you know my terms for renewal, so be wise in 
time and bring your precious daughter to her senses. If 
you are not a fool you will take the first steamer home, 
and I wish you joy of your reflections during the voyage. 
— Yours most unamiably, LOUIS REDWOOD. 

Cable Message from Haldane y New York, to Redwood, 
London, 

Shall be in London in a fortnight. Meanwhile have 
written to my daughter. It will be all right. Lamb and 
Freshwater's notice mere formality, I suppose. 

From C, Halaane, Esq,, New York, to Miss Haldane, Manor 
Hall, Chudleigh Park, 

Agnes. — You have distressed me terribly. Mr. Red- 
wood's offer must be accepted — must, I say. There is no 
alternative. You compel me to disclose what I hoped to 
keep always from you. I have been a good father to you, 
and wished to spare your feelings, but I must now tell you 
the plain truth. 

For years past I have been in difficulties, and only one 
person has known of them, only one person has stepped for- 
ward to save me. That person is Mr. Louis Redwood. He 
has advanced me large sums of money, which have been 
spent in maintaining my position, and yours. When he first 
assisted me you were a child, and there could have been no 
thought of lovemaking in his mind, but as you grew up he 
learnt to love you. The kindness he showed towards me 
was perfectly disinterested, and had you not been in exist- 
ence he would have continued to be my friend. But you ^ 
have angered him, and the child I nourished is now my 
enemy. My fate is in your hands ! if you do not accept 
Mr. Redwood I shall be a ruined man. You must perform 
your duty. What you say about your heart being engaged 
is childish and absurd ; what you say about Mr, Redwood { 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


243 


is ridiculous and unjust. He will make you a good hus- 
band ; he will give you a position that titled ladies will 
envy. You have no choice in the matter ; the attitude you 
have assumed is unwarrantable. No man would quietly 
endure the insult you have passed on him. Understand 
from me that I will allow no further hesitation or evasion. 
An honorable man has made you an offer which any girl 
would be proud to accept, and for some stupid sentimental 
reason you refuse it. I [command you to write to him 
instantly, retracting that*refusal. He is willing even now 
to prove himself our best, our only friend. If you fail in 
your duty I discard you. My home is no longer yours if 
you are rebellious; you must seek one elsewhere. Upon 
receipt of this letter you will send me a message by cable, 
to allay my anxiety. I enclose a form, so that you will 
have no excuse for neglect. Two words will suffice ; I 
consent. — Agnes.’’ Then you will have done your duty to 
me and to yourself, and you will live to bless the choice you 
have mada Your father, C. HALDANE. 

Cable Message from Miss Haldane ^ Chudleigh Parky to C, 
HaldanOy Esq.y New York, 

I cannot, I will not consent. I have heard something of 
him which fills me with horror. AGNES. 

From RacJul Diprose^ Manor Hally Chudleigh Parky to 
George Millingtony Shepherd's Bushy l,ondon. 

My dear George, — Whatever is going to become of us I 
have not the least idea. Everything is at sixes and sevens, 
^ and a good deal worse than that. My dear young lady is 
in a dreadful way, and goes about like a ghost. Her 
father is here, and so is that hateful wretch, Mr. Redwood, 
and I wish they were both at the other end of the world 
or at the bottom of the Red Sea, I don’t care which, so long 
as they were not near us. I want to know why some peo- 
ple are allowed to live. I am sure it is wrong, and if I had 
I my way I would make it right. Yes, I would. Now, 
i what do you think of me ? You had better give me up, 
George, dear. 


244 


TIES, HOIAX AXD DITIXE 


Ever since my j’ounor lady got that letter without any 
name to it, telling her such di^dful things of ilr Redwood 
and that girl Honoria, she has not been like herself. What 
a monster he is — and is she any better ? There 1 I haven’t 
patience with things ! Before that my dear mistress was 
woiried enough. Her sweetheart over the seas, thei*e was 
stimething the matter with him, and she sighed and cried 
till she made me cry and sigh too; and now her father has 
come home, and that Mr. R^wood with him, and between 
them they are fretting my young lady’s life out of her. 
Her father sends for her every morning, and keeps her 
w ith him locked up in his study for an hour and more, and 
w hen she comes away she has hardly strength to stand. 
And that Mr. Redwood smiles at her, and gives her dow el's 
she never looks at, and they go out riding, the three of 
them, and she comes home as white as a sheet — Oh, when 
he is having dinner I wish a bone would stick in his throat 
and choke him, the wretch, that I do ! 

To make things worse, her sweetheart across the seas 
can’t do anything to help her. He went away to make his 
fortune, and it seems as far off as ever. I almost think 
that Mr. Haldane and Mr. Redwood know this, and are 
rubbing their hands over it, as they would over anything 
that would make anybody unhappy. But, oh, George, 
dear, what is to be done ? I can’t think of anything ; can 
you ? 

What a foolish, foolish question ! What can you or- 
anyone do while those two fiends — yes, George, fiends — go* 
on as they are doing ? They ’re the masters, and between' 

them they’ll break my dear young lady’s heart unless 

W ell, unless something. There’s a saying that Heaven helps 
those that help themselves. I keep thinking of that, and 
if the worst comes to the worst I shall have something to 
say about it. All I’ve got to say to you is, don’t be sur- 
prised at anything that occurs. We never know what we 
can do till we are put to it. Not that it will bring you and' 
me any nearer together. Tm speaking in riddles, you’ll 
think. T can’t help it — I can’t help anything. But don’t- 
let them think they can buy me over, try as hard as they 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


245 


like. They’re a clever pair, the wretches, but I have got 
my wits about me, and I intend to keep them, for my dear 
mistress’ sake. She is that distracted that she loses her 
head sometimes, and wants someone to think for her. Well, 
I’ll do that. 

Yes, they are trying to buy me over. Mr. Haldane 
comes to me first — of course when I’m alone — and says that 
my young lady does not appear to be very well, and has 
got some nonsensical notion in her head about a young 
man far away, and what a stupid thing it is, and what a 
lovely time there is before her with Mr. Redwood for a 
lover and a husband, and how beautiful it will be for me 
when I’m living in London with my lady, and going to the 
theatres, and having all sorts of pleasures, and how there’s 
a gold watch and chain, and two beautiful silk dresses 
waiting for me on the day she is married at a grand church 
in London, with heaps of bridesmaids, and orange blos- 
soms, and white veils, and all that, and all that, till there’s 
a regular buzzing in my ears. But I press my fingers to 
them, and the humming goes away, and I curtsey and say 
I hope my young lady will be happy, and Mr. Haldane 
says there’s no doubt of that if she will be advised by 
those who love her best and know best what is good for her, 
and I must mind and not forget the gold watch and the 
silk dresses and all the other temptations to turn a poor 
girl’s head, and here’s a sovereign to put by towards buy- 
ing something for the time I’m married myself, when 
there’ll be a handsome wedding present for me from Mr. 
Redwood and Mr. Haldane — and then my young lady’s 
father goes away, smiling, thinking he’s made it all right 
with me. It’s very confused, I know, George, dear, and it 
all seems mixed up like, but I’m excited and worried, and 
the words came rushing out so fast that they tumble over 
each other, and down they go on paper as fast as they come. 
My George is clever, and could make it out, even if it was 
more mixed up than it is. But if Mr. Haldane thinks he 
has bought me over, and that I am going to do anything 
to make my young lady marry that detestable Mr. Red- 
wood, he’s reckoning without his host. No; not for fifty 


246 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

gold watches and five hundred silk dresses would I do it, 
knowing what I know, but I don’t tell him as much, 
for I don’t want to be turned away, which they 
wouldn’t mind doing I’m sure if it could help 
them in their plans. Let her father think what 
he likes ; I’m not going to speak my mind to him 
though the time may come when I shall be forced to 
do it. Then Mr. Redwood sneaks up to me and says, 
‘‘ Rachel, you’re a sensible girl, and I’ll bet a hundred to 
one you’ve got a sweetheart, and a lucky chap he is ” — 
(I’ve my own opinion about that, George)— “and he’ll be a 
luckier on the day I’m married to your mistress, for there’s 
five ten pound notes waiting for you when the wedding 
comes off.” It’s all waiting for me, gold watches, silk 
dresses, and ten pound notes. Enough to turn a poor girl’s 
head, but it doesn’t turn mine. I’m not to be bought by 
Mr. Haldane and Mr. Redwood. My dear young lady can 
buy me with a smile or a pleasant word. But they can’t, 
if they offer me all the money in the world. If we ever 
marry, George, dear, you’re going to have a very foolish 
wife, but as it’s not at all certain that we ever shall marry 
you needn’t worry over it beforehand. Shall I scratch out 
the last words ? No, because I have never deceived you 
before, and I won’t deceive you now. My dear young lady 
will never, never marry Mr. Louis Redwood, and she has 
made a promise that she will not marry anyone without 
her father’s consent. It isn’t at all likely that he will give 
his consent to her marrying her sweetheart across the seas, 
even if he was to come home rich, and as my young lady 
therefore will never marry at all, neither will I. There it 
is, in a nutshell. We shall both die'^old maids. lam so 
sorry for you, dear old George ; but never you mind ; there’s 
as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, and there’s 
hundreds and hundreds of young ladies ready to jump at 
you the moment you hold up your little finger. Good-bye, 
dear. Give my love to your dear father. As things are, I 
mustn’t send you any. — Your true and loving sweetheart. 

RACHEL DIPROSE. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


247 


From George Millington, London, to Rachel Diprose, Chud- 
high Park. 

I My dearest Rachel. — Your letter is rather confused, but 

[ I understand it very well, and I can see clearly how 
matters stand. You are rather a whirlwind, but I am not 
[ so excitable as you are, and when we are married your 
i temper and mine will make a very good mixture. You are 
I inclined to look on the wrong side of things ; I am inclined 
to look on the right side — which is the bright side, you 
know. It is a great deal pleasanter, and quite as cheap. 
Father says to me, Wherever do you get your patience 
from, George? ''From you or mother, dad,’’ I answer, 
" and a precious good thing it is to have.” I never meet 
trouble half way, and by and by when we’re comfortably 
settled you’ll see the beauty of that, for trouble we’re going 
to have our share of ; it isn’t in nature that everything 
should run smooth — especially with such a whirlwind as 
you in the house. My dear Rachel, I am really, really 
sorry for the unhappy state of affairs at the Hall, and if I 
could do anything to help sweet Miss Haldane I’d fly to do 
it. I wish you would tell her so. Not that it will be of any 
real. use, but when anyone is in trouble it does them no harm 
to know that there are people who feel for them. You will 
have to be careful, Rachel. I see what a comfort you are 
to Miss Haldane, and you mustn’t do anything that would 
put it into her father’s head to turn you away. He is not 
a gentleman I have any liking for, and as for the other, 
Mr. Redwood, I shouldn’t at all object to the opportunity of 
telling him what I think of him. That is never likely to 
happen, moving in different stations as we do, and I say so 
to you only to prove how thoroughly I agree with you in 
all you say about him. About your dying an old maid, 
Rachel — no, Rachel, I set my face against it ; I can be as 
determined as you, and determined I am to marry you, if 
not this year, next, if not next year^ the year after. So 
don’t let us have any more talk about other young ladies 
ready to jump at me. They may jump ; I shan’t hold out 
my arms to catch them. 

Father tells me everything, of course, and he told me 


248 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


what you said to him at Chudlegh once about Mr. Haldane 
owing money to Mr. Redwood ; the landlord of the Brin- 
dled Cow ” let something drop, too, about that ; and now 
I can tell you what father lias found out through his old 
partner, Mr. Barlow. Mr. Redwood has got Mr. Haldane 
under his thumb, and can sell him up at any minute he 
pleases. That’s the secret of their friendship, and of their 
both trying to force Miss Haldane into the match. There 
is no occasion for my expressing my opinion of a man of 
Mr. Redwood’s character — the worst of characters, Rachel 
— persecuting so sweet a lady ; I can only pity her with 
all my heart, and wish her well through it. It is hard to 
say, and harder to see, how things are going to turn out. 
As for advising, that is out of the question. Father and I 
have no right to advise — only father wants me to say this. 
We have a home, not very grand, certainly, but very com- 
fortable, and there it is for you and your young lady, if 
ever you should be driven to London for a time. Of course 
it is a wild idea, but father says, Just you put that down, 
George,” and I have put it down. While things are in this 
state, Rachel, I hope you will write to me more often, for I 
shall be very anxious to know how they are getting on. 
Remember always, if you do happen to think of anything 
I can do just let me know, and it shall be done. 

I am at work on the most beautiful dressing table you 
ever saw, all of inlaid wood, with your name, Rachel, inlaid 
on the top. I am getting quite a houseful of furniture 
ready for us. I don’t like the delay, you know well 
enough, but it gives me time to make a lot of things that 
will come in handy by and bye. Only Rachel, my dear, 
don’t keep me waiting too long. Father sends his love to 
you, and his respects and sympathy to Miss Haldane. As 
for me, I can’t find enough love to send you, but all I have 
is yours. Send me another letter very soon. Your faith- 
ful sweetheart, GEORGE. 

From Rachel Diprose, Chudleigh Park, to George Millington, 
London. 

My dear old George, — You are a dear good fellow, that 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


249 


you are. After I posted my last letter to you, I said to 
to myself, '' Whatever will George think of me for writing 
such a hotch-potch ? ’’ for so it seemed to me when I sent it 
off. But I was worked up into a regular pitch of excite- 
ment, and there’s no one I can speak my mind freely to but 
you. It is such a relief. I know you are patienter that I 
am, and better tempered, and nicer altogether, but if things 
should ever happen to come right I’ll try to make it up to 
you, I will, indeed, George, dear. The idea of your calling 
me a whirlwind ! but I am one, I feel like one. If I could 
whisk my young lady up now, and carry her over the sea 
to her sweetheart there, and see the wedding-ring on her 
finger, it would be done without waiting to consider about 
it. That’s the way a foolish woman talks, isn’t it, George ? 
If she could do this, if she could do that, as if wishing was 
the least bit of good in the world ? O, if I was a man ! 
There I am, at it again. But if I really was a man, I 
should lay hands on Mr. Redwood ; I shouldn’t be able to 
help it. There’s another one here, too, that I’d lay liands 
on, but him I can keep at a distance, and give as good as 
he brings. I mean Mr. Simpson. He’s been at it as well, 
about Miss Haldane marrying Mr. Redwood. '' What a 
good thing it would be for all of us,” he says to me ? 
“ Speak for yourself, Mr. Simpson,” I say to him. '' It isn’t 
for you, and it isn’t for me, to interfere with our betters.” 
(As if, when I said our betters,” I meant it !) '' O,” says 

Mr. Simpson, “you’re against it, too, are you ? ” That put 
me on my guard. “ Against it ! ” I says. “ Why should I 
be against it ? All I mean is, that if I was a young lady 
or gentleman I’d take it as an impertinence for a servant 
to mix himself up with my affairs. I know how to hold 
my tongue, Mr. Simpson ; suppose you take a lesson from 
me.” “Of course I’ll take a lesson from you,” he says. 
“ Where could I find a better schoolmistress ? ” Don’t you 
think anything of it, George. Mr. Simpson is in service 
here, and I’m obliged to put up with him, but I know how 
to keep him at a proper distance. I daresay he’d be more 
familiar if I encouraged him, but I don’t give him a 
chance. 


250 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


If anything, George, clear, things are worse than when 
I sent my last letter. Mr. Redwood goes about as smiling 
as ever, making presents almost every day to Miss Hal- 
dane, presents that she never looks at unless she's forced 
to ; but Mr. Haldane is looking very black. Yesterday 
morning I was going through the passage when I heard 
Mr. Haldane say to my young lady, “ You have made up 
your mind to ruin me." No, papa," my young lady an- 
swered ; '' only I will never, never — " That is all I heard ; 
I didn’t dare to wait because the door was open, and they 
were talking close to it. Last night it was settled that 
there was going to be a grand ball here, and that any num- 
ber of ladies and gentlemen were to be invited. My young 
lady looks very white over it, but to-day I think the invi- 
tations went out. Mr. Haldane wanted his daughter to 
write them, but she wouldn't. How is it all going to end ? 
What a good, patient boy you are to make all those beauti- 
ful things that will never be used, for a house that will 
never be furnished ! And what a miserable creature I am to 
say such things to you, when you are doing all you can to 
please me ! I can't help it ; I can't, indeecl The sight of 
my dear young lady's unhappiness drives me into saying 
things I should never dream of. I will write to you again 
about the ball. I told Miss Haldane what your father said 
about your house, and she asked me to thank you, and said 
I ought to be a happy girl ; and I should be, George, dear, 
if she was. Good-bye, dear. With love to you and your 
father. Your true sweetheart, RACHEL. 

From the Same to the Same, 

My dear, dear George, — The ball comes off the day after 
to-morrow, and for the last three days the Hall has been 
upside down. It is to be the grandest affair that has ever 
been given here, and any number of carriage people are 
coming. There are three dressmakers in the house, mak- 
ing a dinner and ball dress for my young lady, and she 
doesn't take the least interest in what they are doing. I 
tell you what her father and Mr. Redwood are doing, 
George. They are driving her into a trap. They don't say 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


251 


a single word to her about her white face and her unhap- 
piness, and I can see that it is part of their plan. I am 
writing this letter late at night, after everj’^body but me is 
in bed. While I was attending to my young lady, combing 
and brushing her hair, she said to me, all at once, 
with the tears running down her face, Rachel, 
what am I to do ? I did not know how to an- 
swer her at first; then I said quite boldly, and, with- 
out waiting to ask myself whether I was right or wrong, 
''I should do, my dear mistress, what my heart tells me to 
do and a minute afterwards I was frightened at what I’d 
said, because it was like setting her more and more against 
her father. Presently she said If I were dead it would 
be better for them.” I burst out crying myself at this, and 
then she forgot her own trouble, and tried to comfort me. 
That made me stop crying, because it showed me what a 
selfish wretch I was. What is my trouble compared to 
hers ? I’ve got a sweetheart that’s true to me, and nobody 
is trying to make me false to him. It made my heart ache 
to hear her say, If I had a mother she would advise and 
help me ; but I feel, I feel I am doing right. To marry such 
a man — I would sooner be carried to my grave ! Is it pos- 
sible my father can know ? ” Quite possible, thought I, 
but I said nothing. When she was in bed she asked me to 
sit by her a little while, and she put out her hand — Oh, 
George, it was as if I was the only, only friend she had ! 
“ You will not leave me, Rachel ? ” she said. '' No, my dear 
mistress,” I answered. '' I will never leave you. I wi'l 
work my fingers to the bone for you ! ” And I will, George, 
willingly, if it ever comes to it. She kept very quiet, hold- 
ing my hand — think of her sweetness and goodness, George, 
dear ! — and then she let it go, pretending to be asleep. But 
she wasn’t ; she did it for me, fearing I might be tired, so 
I didn’t go away at once, but waited a little longer, and 
smoothed her pillow, all wet with her tears, and wmnt softly 
from her room. My own room is at the top of the house, 
and the window faces the lawn in front of the Hall. J ust 
now, looking out, I saw two gentlemen strolling up and 
down, smoking their cigars. They were Mr. Haldane and 


252 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Mr. Redwood, putting their heads together for mischief. 
If I could only hear what they were saying ! But what 
good would it do ? There, I must stop, or I shall be writ- 
ing a lot of nonsense. Good-night, dear old George. Didn’t 
I tell you once you had better give me up, and look out for 
some girl who won’t be such a worry to you. Well, you 
had better. It is very wicked of me to go on teasing you 
out of your life. I shall keep on loving you, though ; I 
can’t help that, but I’ll keep awa}^' from you. What the 
eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve at. With true love 
to you and your good father, I am always your unhappy 
RACHEL. 

From George Millington, London, to Rachel Diprose, Ghud- 
leigh Park. 

My dearest Rachel, — Just received your letter, and 
write a line before going to work. What nonsense you do 
talk, my dear girl, about you and me ! Give you 
up ! No more than you will give me up. Don’t be 
so low spirited ; everything will come right. I can see 
that things are coming to a crisis with Miss Haldane, 
and that something of the greatest importance will soon 
take place. I do sincerely pity her, and I should be a 
selfish fellow indeed if I did not admire you for your 
loyalty to her. You are staunch to her ; you will be 
staunch to me. What better proof could I have ? Only, 
iny dear girl, if you cannot prevent things you must not 
let them break your heart. That would be foolish — and 
not fair to me, because your heart belongs to me. I beg to 
inform you that it is my property, and you must take care 
of it. The dressing table is finished, and I am planning a 
wash stand to match. I must be off ; can’t afford to lose 
more than half an hour. With love that will never change 
and never grow less. Your true sweetheart 

GEORGE. 

From Rachel Diprose, Chudleigh Park, to George Milling- 
ton, London. 

My dear old George, — You are foolish to be so obsti- 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


253 


nate, but I must not blame you for it. No other girl 
would. But, George, what is the use of your going on 
making things that will never come in use ? Isn’t it a 
waste of wood ? And to work my name in them, too ! 
That is more foolish still, unless you can meet someone 
else named Rachel that you would like to propose to ; then 
there would be some excuse for you. But I must not 
write about myself and you, because you say when I do I 
write nonsense. No, I don’t mean that. It is only that I 
am trying to write with a light heart when mine is very 
heavy. I have some very serious news to tell you. 

The ball came off last night, and nobody who was there 
will be likely to forget it. Mr. Simpson says it will get 
into the papers. Why should it ? It is not their business. 

I suppose the men who write for them are like Mr. Simp- 
son, always poking and prying about. 

I didn’t hear and see everything I am going to tell you, 
but everybody seems to know all about it. You said that 
something of the greatest importance would soon take 
place. George, it has. 

I never saw such a lot of people at the Hall as kept 
coming all day yesterday. A good many came early, and 
every room was full. A lot of servants came from London 
to help. You should have seen the flowers, George. The 
place was a perfect bower. 

There was a grand dinner at half-past eight o’clock. 
At half-past seven my young lady was not dressed. She was 
sitting in her room in her morning dress, and I was wait- 
ing by; one of the dressmakers was there as well. You 
will be late. Miss Haldane,” the dressmaker said. My 
young lady did not speak, and the dressmaker went away, 
and came back presently with Mr. Haldane. “ How is this, 
Agnes ?” he asked, and his face was white with passion. 
“ Papa,” she said — but he stopped her, and sent us from 
the room. In about five minutes he came out — we were 
standing in the passage — and said to me. ''Go in, and 
dress your mistress.” We both went in, and without Miss 
Haldane or I saying one word the dressing wascommencerl. 
The dressmaker talked ; she is married, she told me ; I pity 


254 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


her husband ; she has got a tongue. No, George, my 
young lady did not speak one single word, and my heart 
was too full for me to open my lips to her. It was a beau- 
tiful dress, and it fitted my young lady like wax ; there 
wasn’t a bit of color in her face ; she was like a lamb going 
to the sacrifice. But she was thinking all the time ; 1 saw 
that, and I wondered what was in her mind. About 
twenty minutes past eight Mr. Haldane knocked at the 
door, and asked if she was ready. ‘‘ In five minutes, sir,” 
said the dressmaker. He came again then, and sending 
the dressmaker away — he is a proud gentleman, and hates 
a scene — he called Mr. Redwood in. In came that scorpion, 
with the most magnificent bouquet that ever was seen. He 
smiled and bowed, and offered the bouquet to my mistress ; 
she did not look at him. “ Take the flowers, Agnes,” said 
Mr. Haldane. If a steel tongue could speak the voice 
would be like his. My young lady turned to him for just 
one moment, and then took the bouquet. Then the scor- 
pion offered her his arm. “ Agnes !” cried Mr. Haldane, 
and she put her Angers on the scorpion’s arm. Then they 
left the room, and I tidied it up, and the dressmaker came 
back with the ball dress and arranged it. I went down to 
the kitchen, and all the servants were talking about Miss 
Haldane, and saying she looked like a corpse. I held my 
tongue, and let them talk. I heard that my young lady 
and Mr. Redwood were engaged, and that the engagement 
would be announced that night by Mr. Haldane at the ball 
or the supper. Dinner was over at half-past ten, and my 
young lady came back to dress for the ball. It was said 
in the kitchen that she never spoke a word all through the 
dinner, and that she did not touch a morsel of food. 
She looked like it, faint, and weary, and sick, and 
yet with something in her face that I couldn’t understand. 
It was nearly twelve o’clock before she was dressed again, 
and then the scorpin appeared, this time alone, with another 
magniflcent bouquet, which he offered to her with the same 
detestable smile and bow. He didn’t come into the room, 
but stood in the passage by the open door, waiting to take 
possession of her. as if she was his property. She took no 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


255 


more notice of him than she did before, and it was only 
when her father came and ordered her that she took his 
bouquet and his arm. Before she left she whispered to me, 
'' Don’t go to bed, Rachel.” I did not mean to ; I intended 
to wait up for her, as it was my duty to do, but I think she 
was afraid she would find herself alone when the ball was 
over. Don’t forget, George, that I didn’t see what I am 
going to tell you ; it is only what I Jieard afterwards, but I 
am sure it is all true, and exactly as I describe. Miss 
Haldane danced only one dance, and that by compulsion. 
The scorpion was her partner. She pleaded illness, and I 
dare say there were gentlemen who^saw she was suffering, 
and did not press her ; but her i’e§&^l drove Mr. Haldane 
into passionate fits of temper which drew attention to him. 
All this time, as I heard, the scorpion never once showed 
that he was in any way angry ; all that he tried to show 
was that my young lady -was his property. If others had 
pity for her, he had none. He did not leave her side, and 
did not dance with any other lady. At about three o’clock 
in the morning, when the supper room was full of people. 
Mr. and Miss Haldane and Mr. Redwood being there next 
to each other, Mr. Redwood said something quietly to Mr. 
Haldane, and was heard to say, It is my wish.” Then Mr. 
Haldane got up to make a speech, and everybody was quiet, 
He asked them to fill their glasses, and when this was done 
he said, This ball is given in celebration of an event which 
I have the happiness to announce to you. It is the engage- 
ment of my daughter and Mr. Louis Redwood, and 1 ask 
you to drink to their health and happiness.” Well, just as 
they were about to drink my young lady rose, and held out 
her arms, and they waited to hear what she had to say. 
She spoke in a very low tone, but they say that every word 
was distinct. '' My father is mistaken,” she said ; Mr. 
Redwood and I are not engaged.” They put down their 
glasses, and looked at each other, not knowing what to 
make of it. Mr. Redwood never lost countenance. He smiled 
and said they must have observed that Miss Haldane 
was not well ; the fatigue of the night had been too much 
for her, and he asked them to excuse her. Then he offered 


256 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


her his arm to take her to the ball room, and she turned 
her back upon him, and accepted the arm of another gentle- 
man, but she had not gone two steps before she sank to the 
ground fainting. She was carried to her room, where I was 
waiting for her, and in a few minutes she recovered her 
senses. She remembered perfectly all that had occurred, 
and when her father came to the room she answered him 
quite sensibly, and so firmly that I wondered more and 
more at her. He wanted her to return to the company, but 
she would not. First he begged, then he stormed, but it 
was all no use. She would not go back. At last he said, 
“You cannot be in your right senses; I will talk to you 
to-morrow and bounced away. “ Don’t leave me to-night, 
Rachel,’' my young lady said to me when we were alone. 
There was no need for her to ask me a second time ; I was 
only too glad to stop with her. So I put her to bed, and as 
she begged me to do so I lay down by her side, and we 
were soon asleep. She went to sleep first ; I think she was 
happier because she had made up her mind to something. 
I got up pretty early, and when she woke I had a cup of 
tea ready for her. We had breakfast together — she asked 
me to have it with her — and then a servant came with a 
message from her father that he must see her at once in 
her study. “ Tell my father I will speak to him here,” she 
said, and when the servant was gone she told me to go to 
the inner room, not considering perhaps that I could hear 
every word that passed between them. I did as I was told, 
and presently her father came to her. “ Now,” he said, and 
his voice grated on my ear like the scraping of a knife, “ be 
good enough to explain the meaning of your conduct last 
night.” “ I think, papa,” she answered, “ that you should 
give me an explanation of yours. Why did you tell the 
people that I was engaged to Mr. Redwood ? ” “ It is the 

truth,” he said, and she said quiet boldly — it was as much 
as I could do to keep from clapping my hands — “ It is not 
the truth, papa.” “ How dare you say that to me,” he cried, 
very furious, “ when you know it is my wish ? ” “I dare, 
papa,” she said, “ because nothing on earth can ever force 
me to marry Mr. Redwood. If you knew what I know 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


257 


ibout him you would not wish me to marry him. You 
would abhor him, as I do.’’ '' I know everything about 
mm,” Mr. Haldane said. '' You cannot, papa,” she 
mid. I can, and do,” he said. '' You are committing 
p crime by opposing me.” I should be committing a 
jeriine,” she said, ‘‘ if I accepted him. He knows 
my feelings towards him, and he is a coward for torturing 
^e as he is doing.” '' He is not torturing you,” her father 

r id ; he is my friend, and will continue to be my friend 
you do as I wish. You have some silly, romantic notions 
in your head, and it is time you got rid of them. There 
^ust be an end to this nonsense. You do not know what 
ps best for you ; I do ; and I say you will be a happy 
woman when you are Mrs. Redwood.” '' That,” said my 
|roung lady, I will never be. I will rather beg my bread 
In the streets.” ‘‘ It may come to that,” said Mr. Haldane. 
iWell, they went on talking, Mr. Haldane fuming and beg- 
ing, and she keeping firm. At last he said, Tell me plain- 
ly what your objection is to Mr. Redwood ? ” ''I have more 
iflian one objection,” she said. Even if I loved him, which 
J do not, and never shall, he has acted towards a poor girl 
in a manner so base and dishonorable that I would never 
again take his hand in friendship.” “ I asked you to speak 
plainly,” her father said. Read this,” she said,, and I 
heard the rustling of paper, and knew she was giving him 
the unsigned letter she had received about Mr. Redwood 
and that Honoria. Everything was quiet while he read it ; 
then he said, “ This is the work of a scoundrel who has a 
■grudge against an honorable gentleman. He shall answer 
for himself.” He went away, and came back soon with Mr. 
Redwood himself. While he was gone I was in a puzzle 
Iwhat to do ; I ought to have told my young lady that I 
could hear all that was said, but I don’t mind saying that 
T was curious to hear the end of it. I dare say I was 
wrong in remaining where I was, but the mischief is done, 
and can’t be undone ; and I don’t repent now doing what I 
,did. ''Mr. Redwood,” said Mr. Haldane to my young lady, 
i " will tell you that the letter is a tissue of falsehoods.” 
I" Quite false, I assure you,” said Mr. Redwood, in his 


1 


258 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


smooth voice ; andnow we will forget what is past. Why did 
you not tell me of this letter before ? It would have explained 
what I have never been able to understand — why you re- 
fused me/* My young lady answered very steadily, but in 
a lower tone. “.My father puts me to shame by bringing 
you here, and speaking of the letter. I cannot discuss it 
with you. I have told you repeatedly, Mr. Redwood, that 
your attentions are distasteful to me. I beg you not to 
persecute me any longer.** “ All’s fair in love and war,” 
said Mr. Redwood. “ That I have proposed to you heaven 
knows how many times is the strongest proof I can 
give of my love and devotion. Honor me by accept- 
ing my hand and fortune.” “ For the last time, Mr. Red- 
wood,” said my young lady, “ I decline your proposal.” 
“ You can’t deny,” said Mr. Redwood, after a little pause, 
he was speaking now to Mr. Haldane, “ that I have made a 
good fight of it. I give you twenty -four hours. If you 
can bring your daughter to reason within that time I stand 
to my offer. If not, I must leave the matter in the hands 
of Lamb and Freshwater.” I caught the names quite dis- 
tinctly. Lamb and Freshwater. George, dear, ask your 
father to tell me who Lamb and Freshwater are. They are 
nice names ; they ought to be nice people. I could see with- 
out looking — and there was a keyhole handy — the look Mr. 
Haldane gave my young lady before he left the room with 
Mr. Redwood. I didn’t go back to her at once, and it was 
lucky I didn’t, because her father returned almost directly. 
“ I have very few words to say to you,” he said to her. 
“ If you do not consent to accept Mr. Redwood before this 
time to-morrow I turn you from my house. You will find 
another home ; this will be no longer open to.” “ I will 
never marry Mr. Redwood, papa,” said the poor young lady. 
“ You have one day to decide,” said Mr. Haldane. “ I have 
decided, papa,” said my young lady very sweetly. “ For- 
give me.” But he turned away savagely from her, and 
slammed the door behind him. 

This long letter is not written all at once, George. 
Whenever I could snatch a few minutes I have sat down to 
it, and there has been a good deal to do, George, dear, and 
there is something yet to tell that will startle you. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


259 


When I went in to my young lady I expected to find 
her all o£ a tremble, but I was surprised to see that she 
' was calm. I didn’t give her credit for being so brave. 

' There’s no knowing what women are .capable of when 
they’re put to it. When I was little I used to wish I was 
a man, but I don’t wish that now, and perhaps you don’t 
^ either, though what’s the use of my being a woman — for 
|j you, George, I mean — I’m sure I can’t say. I am afraid, 
dear, that we’re farther from each other than we’ve ever 
been before. 

I told my young lady that 1 had heard everything, and 
I she said she had not thought of it when she asked me to 
j go to the inner room. '' But I need not trouble to tell you 
now, Rachel,” she said. You heard what my father said, 

, and I have made up my mind what to do.” Then and there 
she told me that she was going to leave her father’s house 
the very next morning — that is to-morrow, George — and 
intended to go to London, and try to live there. But 
how, my dear mistress,” I asked, how will you get a living 
in that big place ? ” Oh,” she answered, “ I can paint, I 
can draw, I can sew, I can teach. Mr, Millington ” — your 
good father, George — '^once told me that there were a 
hundred ways in London that a young girl can get a living 
by, and I shall go and try and get mine. Perhaps by and 
bye my father will forgive me.” Now, George, upon this 
what did I do — what do you think I did ? Y ou dear old 
man, I am sure you will guess. I told my young lady that 
if she went to London I would go with her, and live with 
her if she would allow me, and work for her, whether she 
would allow me or not. The idea of her working for her- 
self ! She doesn’t know what is before her ; I do, although 
I’ve never been in London. She wouldn’t consent to it at 
first, she wouldn’t as much as listen to it, but I said it 
would not be right or proper for her to live in London all 
by herself, and that she must have some one to look after 
her, and who could do that better than I could ? I told 
her if she refused me I would go without her permission, 
and live in the next room to hers, and that I would never, 
never leave her till she was happily settled. And at last, 


260 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


George, she consented ; and she kissed me, and said such 
beautiful things to me, and we had a good cry together, and 
so it is all settled. 

I am going to run out and post this letter, and I will 
write to you again before we say good bye to the Hall. 
Now don’t you do anything so foolish as to come here for 
the purpose of taking us to London. I know that is what 
you will want to do, but we shall be gone before you come, 
so wait till you hear from me again, which will be the day 
after you get this ; because, George, dear, I shall write you 
another letter from Chudleigh, perhaps late to-night, and 
another when we get to London. I must send you my 
love, and your father, too, though I don’t see what is the 
good of it. — Your affectionate sweetheart, RACHEL. 

From Rachel Diprose, Chudleigh Park to George Milling- 
tony London : 

My dear old George, — It is all over; we are going to 
leave Chudleigh Park, to leave the old house ; and 
whether we ever see it again who can tell ? 1 shouldn’t 

wonder if this was the last letter I ever wrote from this 
part of the country ; I shouldn’t wonder if the sky was to 
fall on the top of the earth ; I shouldn’t wonder at any- 
thing. 1 don’t belong to Chudleigh, that’s one thing; I 
came to my dear young lady from Norfolk, you know, and I 
shall not feel it as bad as others might do in saying good-bye 
to it ; but it’s a wrench, George, dear, and because Miss Hal- 
dane is in a bad way, I’m in a bad way too. 

Her father came to her this morning when I was with 
her, and said, without ordering me from the room as he 
always does when he sees me there, Have you considered 
what I said to you yesterday ? ” ''I have, papa,” said my 
dear mistress. What is your answer ? ” he asked. Then 
it was my mistress who sent me away, and I went and 
walked up and down, wondering how it would end, and 
whether he would have the heart to turn her out of the 
house. I knew for one thing that she was set not to marry 
that scorpion, Mr. Redwood ; she did not sleep a wink 
all last night, but I saw in her face, when I helped her to 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


261 


I dress this naorning, that she had not altered her mind. 
She didn’t say anything to me about it ; there is no need 
for her to do that now , I can read her like a book. All 
the servants in the Hall suspected that something very 
serious was going to happen, but they couldn t say exactly 
what, and when they asked me, you may be sure I did not 
tell them. They’re a babbling lot, but I know when to 
hold my tongue. I expect they got to suspect something 
through Mr. Simpson, who hasn’t got his match for ferret- 
ing things out. While I was walking up and down in that 
state of restlessness I can’t describe, he comes up to me and 
says, “ Well, Rachel, and how are we this morning ? ” “ My 

name is Miss Diprose,” I answers. “ and I’ll thank you to 
call me so ; and pray who made you a doctor to call me 
‘we?’” “You’re a sharp one,” he says. “And how are 
you this morning. Miss Diprose ? ” “ I m none the better 

for seeing you, Mr. Simpson,” I says, “ and now you’ve got 
your answer.” “ You grow sharper and sharper every min- 
I ute,” he says. “ A needle isn’t in it with you. I think as 
there’s going to be a change here, you might be a little 
more amiable to me.” “Oh,” I says, “is there 

going to be a change here ? You’re a Mr. Knowall, 
you are. If I was in your shoes, Td set up as a 
prophet, I would;^ “Some people," he says slyly, upon 
that, “ would like to be in some other people’s shoes if they 
had a chance." I looks down at his, which are enormous, 
George, dear, and says, “ There would be no difficulty in 
more than one pair of feet getting into yours, Mr. Sinip- 
I son." I could have clapped my hands for joy to see that I d 
put him in a rage , he’s that vain of himself and his appear- 
ance that there’s no holding him ; but I wasn t in the mind 
to be joyful at anything. I was thinking all the time how 
my dear mistress was getting along with her father, and 
what was going to happen to all of us. ^ He gets over his 
temper quick, and says, with a slide of his body — he is for 
all the world no better than a snake— “ Just you remember 
one thing. Miss Diprose. People may want a friend when 
they least expect it, and in spite of your sharp tongue you U 
end one in Mr Simpson w'henever you call upon him. 


262 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“If Mr, Simpson’s head don’t ache till I give him a call,” 1 
answers, “he’s a fortunate man, that’s all I’ve got to say.” 
He tries to give me as good as he’s got by saying, “ Some 
people. Miss Diprose, sing one tune to-day and another 
tune to-morrow. I hold to what I say, and I won’t go 
back on you for treating me so unfriendly. I’ve got a bit 
of money in the bank, and I’m as good as a London man 
any day of the week.” I didn’t stop to ask what he meant 
by that, but turned my back to show I didn’t want to say 
anything more to him. In another minute I saw Mr. Hal- 
dane and Mr. Redwood walking in the grounds together, 
and knowing my dear mistress was alone I went up to her. 
She was whiter than ever, but she didn’t speak for a long 
time. At last she said — O, George, in such a mournful 
voice ! — “ I am going away, Rachel,” she said, and then I 
knew that it was all over. “ To-day, Miss ?” I asked. 
“Yes, to-day, Rachel,” she said. “To London?’* I asked. 
“Yes, Rachel,” she said, “to London.” “When shall 
we start, Miss ?” I said. Then she began to talk to me 
again, and said that I had no right to sacrifice myself 
because she was in trouble — -just think of her speaking of 
sacrifice to me, George, dear ! — and that it was my duty to 
look after myself. I said J was looking after myself, and 
that I had thought the matter well and didn’t intend 
to leave her service. But I cannot r;fford to pay you, 
Rachel,” she said, “ I’ll wait till you can, ray dear mis- 
tress,” I said. “ I’ve saved a little, and I’m not in want. I’ve 
a strong pair of arms, and I’m going to work for 
you and look after you. I should never have a 
minute’s if I acted in any other way, so 

it’s no use trying to persuade me.’' Then she talked 
of you, and I up and said it was just what I wanted, 
the chance of going to London, and being near you, and 
that it wasn’t likely I could go alone. “ I’m doing what my 
sweetheart wishes me to do,” I said (and don’t you contra- 
dict me, George, whatever comes of it). “ I can be true to 
him and true to you, and I can’t be one thing without the 
other. Besides, it was all settled last night.” Well, George, 
dea'" the long and the short of it is that she had to giv^e 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


263 


way, and when she confessed that my company would be a 
comfort to her, my heart was light as light could be. Then 
I helped her to look over her things. She's got any number 
of dresses, but she wouldn't take them with her ; she chose 
three plain frocks, and some other bits of dress she can’t do 
without, and I packed them in a trunk, and smuggled in 
one or two things when she wasn’t looking. '' There’s your 
jewellery. Miss,” I said. Would you believe it, George, she 
wouldn’t take a single thing her father had given her ? 

But they’re yours. Miss,” I said, your very own, to do 
what you like with.” They belong to my father now,” 
she said, “ I have no right to them. There are a few things 
I bought with my own money that I think I may take with 
me. And I’m not penniless either, Rachel ; I’ve got over 
twelve pounds in my purse, and that will keep us ever so 
long if we’re careful.” My heart bled for her, it did, she 
spoke so patiently and sw^eetly. I asked her if there w^as 
any friend in London that she would go and ask advice of, 
and she said there was, and mentioned Mr. Parton’s name. 
Mr. Parton is her sweetheart’s father, George, and I was 
glad to hear that she had thought of him. He is not well 
off, but that doesn’t matter ; she will have another friend 
to stand by her as well as me. When my own box was 
packed I went to the steward and got what wages were due 
to me. Mr. Redwood was there, and after I had signed for 
my money he asked me if I wanted a place. “ When I do,’ 
I said, “ I shan’t come to you for one.” He only laughed, 
and said that some of us had a lesson to learn, and perhaps 
they’d be sorry when it was too late. I don’t think that 
man has a heart. 

We are all ready to go, and I am only waiting till my 
dear young lady comes for me. The train doesn’t start for 
ni^h upon two hours, so we have plenty of time. What do 
you think my poor mistress is doing. Taking leave of her 
home ; going to her favorite rooms and places in and out 
of the house, and saying good-bye tothem. I wanted to go 
with her, but she said she perferred going alone, so I came up 
here to write my letter to you. I feel a little choky my- 
self, George, dear, but I’m not going to give way. A few 


264 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


minutes ago I looked out of the window, and there was my 
young lady walking slowly along, looking at the trees and 
the flowers, with all her heart in her eyes. Not far from 
her stood her father and the scorpion. She turned towards 
them, but they never moved. The scorpion took out his 
cigar case, offered it to Mr. Haldane, and then lit his cigar, 
with a look in his eyes that made my blood boil. Seeing 
they would not take any notice of her, my young lady 
moved slowly away, while they went on talking and smok- 
ing. What a pair ! I hope a judgment will fall on them 
some day, and that I shall be there to see it. That’s all the 
harm I wish them. 

There was our boxes to take to the railway station. 
We couldn’t carry them, and it was quite as likely as not 
that orders had been given that nobody was to assist us. 
So, not to be outdone, I went down to the Brindled Cow” 
and told the landlord to send up a carriage for us. How 
does news fly, George, without anybody saying anything ? 
They knew already in the village that my young lady was 
going away, and that there’d been a dreadful quarrel be- 
tween her and her father. They hadn’t got the rights of 
the story, but there was truth at the bottom of it, and that 
was the main thing after all. The villagers were standing 
about gossiping and wondering, and when they saw me 
they came round me and asked a thousand questions. I 
didn’t see why I should make a secret of what was going to 
happen, so I told them Miss Haldane was going away from 
the Hall, and that I was going with her. " Where’s she 
going to ? ” they asked. “ To London,” I answered. ‘‘ And 
when is she coming back ? ” they asked. “ Ah,” said I, 
“ that’s more than I can tell you. There’s one thing I 
can tell you, and that is that my young lady is an 
angel.” “ That she is, that she is,” they cried, 
and more than one cried, God Almighty bless her ! ” 
Amen,” said I, as I hurried back ; there was so much to 
do at the Hall, and I didn’t want to keep away from my 
young lady too long. Everybody in the village loves her, 
and everybody will miss her. When she’s gone the place 
won’t be like the same. For my part, I never want to set 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


266 


eyes on the village again, unless my young lady is there ; 
when she goes shell leave mournful hearts behind her. 
That’s more than can be said either of her father or the 
scorpion. I do believe there would be a general cheer if it 
was known they were going away and were never coming 
back again. 

Now, George, dear, don’t you go blaming me because I 
don’t call upon you to meet us at the railway station in 
London. I know what I’m doing, and I’m doing every- 
thing for the best. It isn’t my own feelings I’ve got to 
consult, it’s my dear young lady’s, and I’m sure she won’t 
want to see strangers while she’s in the state she is. I 
understand her, and she doesn’t mind me. She’ll cry if 
she wants to when I’m with her, which she wouldn’t if a 
sti’anger was by ; and I’d give something, I would, if she’d 
burst out and have it over. And don’t you go and think 
hard things of me for not asking you to help us ; if you do 
I’ll never speak to you again as long as I live. Besides, 
I’ve got no claim on you now ; it’s all over between us, for 
I can’t expect you to go on waiting for me for ever ; so, 
George, dear, consider yourself free, and look out for 
another girl. You won’t have any trouble in finding one. 
You will always be my friend, won’t you ? There’s my 
dear mistress come for me, and I must wind up my letter. 
I’ll write you another in London, directly we get settled. 
Good-bye, dear. With a thousand thousand kisses, and 
with my eyes brimming over, thinking of you and every- 
thing, I remain, Your loving and unhappy, RACHEL. 


From Rachel Diprose, 5 Warrington street, E.C,, to George 
Millington, Shepherd's Bush. 

My dear old George, — Here we are, settled down for a 
bit in London, and now I can write to you. I’ve plenty to 
tell, but I’ll try and make it short, for I know how tire- 
some you must think my long letters. I can hear you say 
when the postman knocks at your door, " Oh, here’s another 
letter from that bothering Rachel ! She’s becoming a 
regular nuisance ! ” I do try you a lot, George dear ; I 


266 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


know that ; but if it should be my good fortune to have 
the chance (which it will never, never be, dear), T\\ make 
it up to you, that I will ; and nobody in the world can say 
that Rachel Diprose is not as good as her word. Oh, my 
dear old George, I don’t mean half, no, not a quarter what 
I say, and any man but you would have been tired of me 
long ago ; but I don’t think you are, though I do try you 
so hard. I do love you, indeed, indeed I do — and that’s the 
worst of it, isn’t it ? 

Yes, George, here we are in London, settled down in 
four rooms, two on the first fioor, and two on the second. 
The front room on the first floor is what we call the living 
room ; the back room we use as a kitchen ; the two rooms 
on the second floor are our bedrooms. So we are quite 
comfortable. At least I am, but oh, what a change it is for 
my dear young lady ! Not that she complains. There she 
sits while I am writing to you, with some work in her hand 
she is trying to do, and not making a very good job of it. 

I must learn, Rachel,” she says, and I don’t try to dissuade 
her, for it’s good for her to h /c something to do, whether 
she does it right or not ; it prevents her from thinking too 
much. Now I must tell you about our going away from 
Chudleigh Park. 

There was the carriage from tho Brindled Cow ” at the 
door, and there was the landlord himself to drive it, and 
the ostler to help down with our boxes. It isn’t often the 
landlord of the “Brindled Cow drives a customer in any of 
his traps, and I knew he’d done it this time in honor of my 
dear young lady, and I was grateful to him for doing so 
much. My young lady was dressed, and so was I, and when 
our boxes were on the box I told her that all was ready. 
“ Must we go this minute, Rachel ? ” she asked, softly. “ O, 
no, miss,’' I answered ; “ we’ve a good quarter of an hour 
and then we shouldn’t be too late for the train ; it’s always 
a few minutes behind hand, and the station master knows 
we’re going by it, and he’ll keep it back for us.” She said 
nothing to this, but sat by the window, looking out. 
Presently she started up and went to the door and listened 
— I knew what for. She was hoping her father would come 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


267 


at the last minute and tell her she wasn’t to go. He was in 
the house, but she might have stood at the door all day and 
he would never have come unless it was to turn her out, and 
at last she went out into the passage towards his room. I 
followed her at a little distance, in case she might want me ; 
I wasn’t at all sure she wouldn’t break down, and it was my 
duty to be near her. She walked, oh, so slowly, and stopped 
almost at every step, with her hand at her heart, but 
before she reached his room the door opened and out he 
came. She put her hands together, and looked up into 
his face, and then he stopped. Have you come to 
tell me,” he said, '' that you repent your undutiful 
conduct ? Have you come to beg my forgiveness, 
and to say that you accept Mr. Redwood ? ” Three 
or four times did she try to speak before she got 
her words out. '‘I have come to beg your forgiveness, 
papa,” she said, but I cannot accept Mr. Redwood.” “ Out 
of my sight ! ” he cried, and there was a white foam on his 
lips as he pushed past her, and almost knocked her down. 
I ran and caught her, and she remained in my arms very 
quiet for a long time. She didn’t cry, but she was sighing 
as though her heart would burst. I didn’t say a word, but 
held her hand. At last she took herself away from me. 
Seeing how she was suffering, I said to her, Cry, my dear 
mistress ; have a good cry. It will relieve you. There’s 
plenty of time.” No, Rachel,” she said, it would be 
wrong. If there’s anybody outside they’d see me, and 
would think my father had not been behaving kindly to 
me. They must not think that, through me, Rachel. I 
shall be myself presently.” I never would have believed 
she had such strength and spirit ; presently she said in a 
steady voice, “Now, Rachel, we will go.” We went back 
to her room, and she took some flowers she had gathered, 
and gave a long look round, and then we went slowly 
downstairs. George, dear, all the servants were outside in 
the grounds, and they all came up to her and said “ Good- 
bye, miss, and we hope we shall soon see you back again.” 
It was a trial to her, but she bore it bravely. “ Good-bye,” 
she said, and she shook hands with them all, and took the 


268 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


flowers they had gathered for her ; and the carriage, too, 
was full of flowers. I could have kissed every one of them, 
I could, though they were not all females ; I did kiss them 
that were, for they said good-bye to me as well, and what 
little differences we’d had at one time and another were all 
forgotten and forgiven. There was a great St. Bernard 
dog, my dear young lady’s favorite of all the dogs in the 
place, the dog that was hers and nobody else’s, that I knew 
she’d have given the world to take with her, but didn’t 
dare, for fear of her father. She knelt down and put her 
arms round his neck and kissed him again and again ; and 
George, dear, in all the people that were standing about 
there wasn’t a dry eye. Yes, there was ; I am telling a 
story. The scorpion was there, standing on the steps of 
the Hall, as if he and nobody else was master there — 
and perhaps he is. He was smoking, of course ; he is 
always smoking, and I wish he’d smoke himself into 
a fit that he’d never recover from. He was looking on, 
cool and smiling, and seemed to enjoy it all. Oh ! — but 
there, I’d better keep myself in ; but if there’s • such a 
thing as justice in heaven or earth, it will fall on him one 
day and break his wicked heart. He stood there as cool as 
you please, and when we were in the carriage he was brute 
enough to raise his hat to my dear young lady. Chud — 
that’s the name of the dear gi*eat dog — was quite close to 
the carriage, and I thought if I was in my mistress’s place 
I’d tell him to jump upon the scorpion and tear his heart 
out. And Chud would have done it, too ; he understands 
not only every word my young lady speaks, but every 
movement she makes, and she’d only to raise her little finger 
and point to the scorpion, and it would have been all over 
with him. But she did nothing ; she simply looked away. 
Then the carriage began to move off, and the servants ran 
after it to the gates of the Park, and there was the lodge- 
keeper and his wife with more flowers, and every man there 
had his hat off, and every female servant had her apron to 
her eyes. Now, George, there were two ways to the rail- 
way station, one through the Park, the way we hadn’t come, 
and another through the village ; and it was through the 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


269 


village we were going. Everybody was out, and everybody 
had a kind word for my dear young lady, and everybody 
showed how much she was loved and honored there. The 
rector came out with his wife and children, and they shook 
hands with my mistress, and asked her to write to them, 
and whether she promised or not I can’t say, but she kissed 
the children, and we drove away. Not fast, but very slow, 
and at the door of the “ Brindled Cow ” a hamper was put 
into the carriage, and whatever you may say of the land- 
lady she’s a good sort, and I’ll never speak a word against 
her, though she wasn’t a favorite of mine. And all the 
children came out of school, and waved their hands, and 
cried, God bless you, lady ! ” — Oh, George, the world isn’t 
so bad after all ; there’s plenty of good people in it, and we 
met a many of them in Chudleigli village. At last 
we got to the station, and the stationmaster waited 
on us himself, and we had a carriage all to ourselves, 
and all the flowers and the hamper were put on 
the seats ; and then came perhaps the best thing 
of all. At the very moment the train was moving 
away, the door of our carriage was quickly opened, and 
who should jump into it but Ohud ! '' Oh, my dear, dear 

Chud,” my dear mistress cried, you must go, you must 
go ! ” She tried to push him out, but she might as well 
have tried to move a mountain. There Chud lay stretched 
out, with his great head between his paws, licking my dear 
young lady’s hands, and he never stirred till the train was 
rattling along. Then he got up, and put his head in her 
lap, and looked up into her face with his lovely speaking 
eyes, as much as to say, I’m going to stop with you, and 
go where you go, and whoever tries to prevent me had 
better look out for himself.” And they better had, for if 
ever a faithful heart beat in anyone’s breast it beats in 
Chud’s, and he’d lay down his life for his mistress, just as 
I would myself. What could she say, what could she 
do ? She put her arms around him and said, “ Yes, Chud, 
if they don’t take you away you shall remain with me, and 
we’ll never, never part 1 ” It was enough to make one 
jealous, if one was mean enough, Chud gave me his paw. 


270 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


and we shook hands, if you don’t mind my saying so, and 
here he is now in our room, blinking at me while I write 
to another faithful heart that I know will say, Bravo, 
Chud ! ” when he reads this letter. 

Well, George, we got to London all safe, and then we 
had to look out for lodgings. “ We must find rooms among 
the poor, Rachel,” my young lady said ; and that is how 
we came to live here. We slept here last night for the first 
time, and before we went to bed I posted a letter to Mr. 
Barton, and he came to see us to-day. What a gentleman 
he is — a real true gentleman — and how he comforted my 
young lady ! He wants her to live nearer to him, and 
perhaps we shall after a week or so. The worst of it is, 
he’s as poor as we are, but it’s something to have such a 
friend in this great wilderness of a city. Oh, George, what 
a wonderful, wonderful city ! I never dreamt it was any- 
thing like the place it is, and I should be frightened to be 
here alone. How thankful I am that I came with my young 
lady ! Chud’s all very well, but she can’t talk to him as 
she talks to me, and, noble creature as he is, he can’t sympa- 
thize with her as I can, and can’t help her as I can. I’m not 
jealous of him a bit; we’re in partnership, Chud and me, and 
we’re going to protect my dear young lady between us. 
She wrote to her father this afternoon, and told him where 
she was, but I don’t expect she’ll get any answer from him. 

And now, George, I’ve told you everything, and if 
anybody had said that I could write such* long letters 
as I’ve been doing lately I would never have believed him ; 
but there’s no knowing what you can do till you try. If you 
get this letter to-morrow, and care to come and see us, why, 
George, dear, we shall be glad to see you — at least, my 
young lady and Chud will ; but if you’re coming to scold 
me, and with any idea that you can make me alter my 
mind, you had better keep away. I’m longing to see you, 
George, and I know you will be good. I asked my young 
lady if you could come, and she said, certainly, and that I 
was to write to you at once, and that she would be glad to 
see your father as well as you. Give him my love, and if 
you still care for mine, take it, dear. It is all yours, all I 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


271 


have to give to any man, for my heart is divided between 
you and my dear mistress. — Your loving sweetheart, 

RACHEL. 

From the Rev. Mr, Burleigh, GabrieVs Gully, Otago, New 
Zealand, to G. Barton, Esq,, Westminster Palace road, 
London. 

My dear Sir, — You will be surprised to receive a letter 
from a stranger in a distant land, but I write to you, the 
father of a young friend I have made in these parts, for 
whom, although our acquaintanceship is not of long stand- 
ing, I have a sincere regard and esteem. I will at once 
allay any anxiety you may feel by saying that your son 
Frederick is well enough in health, and that there is nothing 
the matter with him physically ; but I think it proper you 
should understand how it is with him in all ways. How it 
was that he and I contracted a friendship I will leave it to 
him to recount when he and you meet ; I will merely say 
now that there was something of the law of attraction in 
it, like floating to like and amicably mixing. There are 
forces that fly from one another, forces that simply require 
propinquity to become attached to one another ; you find it 
in chemicals. Ours were of the latter order ; we are both 
of us gentlemen, and recognizing the fact, we joined hands. 
There has grown between us a mutual regard. We have 
exchanged confidences ; we know something of each 
other’s history, hopes, aspirations, and belongings. Thus 
it is that I know you, although we have never met. 

You do not need to be told, dear sir, that you have for 
a son a gentlenfan of refined feeling and of honorable 
impulse. It is impossible for him to descend to a meanness ; 
his is in every respect a noble character, which compels 
admiration from those who can understand him. But not 
everyone does this, lacking the qualification, and unluckily 
he is in a part of the world where the human atoms are not 
exactly of his order ; therefore until he met me — you will 
pardon me for this piece of vanity — he was somewhat of a 
forlorn wanderer in these wilds, for wilds thev are. Civil- 
ization approaches us, but we are as yet familiar with only 


272 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


its rougher attributes. In the course of time we shall do 
better. The restless, adventurous spirit brings out many 
noble qualities ; it brings out, also, many of the baser. Un- 
happily, in the quest of gold, these latter predominate, and 
mortals commonly brought up, suddenly finding themselves 
in possession of gold, gravitate the wrong way, — and con- 
sequently fall. There is no fear of this with your son 
Frederick. His honorable and delicate instincts, and the 
chivalry of his nature are a safeguard. I have touched 
briefiy upon the conditions of life among which we move, 
only for the purpose of enlightening you. If I judge aright 
your son would not disclose to you, his father, for whom 
he entertains an affection of which a father may be proud, 
the moral difficulties we adventurers from the old country 
have to contend with. The scum rises to the top, and so it 
will be for some time to come. 

Y our son wandered hitherward in search of gold, and it 
cannot be said that his motive was a sordid one when we 
take into consideration the goal he had in view. But, my 
dear sir, your son is an artist in fact . and feeling, and he is 
moving among unfit surroundings. I do not blame him for 
coming ; the end he had in view was laudable and honor- 
able ; I content myself with saying that he is out of place 
in the life we live. Success would have amply justified 
him ; his want of success is a warning. I am myself of an 
age to be his father. My experience has been wide, and I 
have had opportunities of studying men ; I have seen many 
lives wasted. It would cause me infinite regret to see your 
son's life wasted. I cannot disguise my apprehension that 
there is danger ahead. Men fall into an apathetic state ; 
the more sensitive, the more refined the nature, the greater 
the danger. What is lacking is rough strength, and this is 
lacking in your son. 

He has worked hard and has not been successful. He 
has seen other men achieve fortune, and it has passed him 
by. But he still clung to the mantle of hope. There are 
few of us who have not had experience of the slipperiness 
of that garment. It is a will-o'-the-wisp, leading us to the 
morasses hidden from view. The song we hear is a siren's 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


273 


song. Beware,” as the poet says. Trust her not. She 
is fooling thee.” The mischief of it is that we continue to 
hear of the good fortune attending unworthier men, and 
we do not pause to consider that it is only of the successes 
we hear, not of the failures. It is as one to ten thousand. 
A forlorn hope, dear sir. 

I never met a man with so lofty an ideal as your son. 
In the purity of his nature there is a womanly touch, and I 
am sufficiently old-fashioned to reverence, and believe in, 
the old idea of women, the old idea which refines and 
exalts, and in which exists the best of infiuences. We are, 
I am sorry to perceive, difting into a newer idea which is 
dragging from its pedestal this beacon light to those who 
need some better teaching. To this degrading transforma- 
tion such men as your son will never subscribe. They will 
die as they have lived, worshipping the pure. All honor 
to them. 

Lately, dear sir, a change has come over your son. 
Where he was hopeful he is becoming hopeless. Animation 
is degenerating into apathy. He works hard still, but the 
hope, that sustained him is fading into listlessness. The 
light upon the hill is growing faint. 

It hurts me to observe this. I ask myself the reason. 
He is young, he is talented, the best years of his life are 
before him. Let them not be wasted here, where there is 
small opportunity for him to work out a befitting career. 
As I have before indicated he has told me much of himself, 
of you, of the lady he loves ; but I am of the opinion that 
he has not told me all. A secret grief is preying upon him, 
aiid, I repeat, there is danger. 

Let me, dear sir, advise you. Your son is not in his 
proper sphere amongst us. He has more than talent ; he 
has genius. As an artist he may have to pass through 
years of struggle, but success will smile upon him at last. 
He will never meet with it here ; all the elements of our 
outer and inner life are opposed to it and to him. His 
career should be worked out in a civilized land, where you 
are. He loves you ; he has faith and confidence in you ; 
he can lean upon you ; he will find in you a solace for 


274 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


present failure, a spur to future endeavor. If you can , 
afford it, dear sir, send for him home. He will come at 
your call. It will be in every respect a gain, for he will 
never win fortune here. Every day he remains is a day 
wasted. 

If he had the means I would urge him to take the first 
ship to England ; but he has not the means. I doubt if lie 
tells you how poor he is. He is working literally hand to 
mouth, and sometimes one does not reach the other. If I 
had the money I would force it upon him, but I am a poor 
minister, with a small stipend and a young family to devour 
it. That is the position exactly. 

He is not aware that I am writing to you. I have 
obtained your address from him in a casual way, and he 
does not suspect my motive in asking for it. I am thor- 
oughly disinterested in advising you to send for your son, 
for it will be a grievous loss to me, but I shall gain some 
compensation by an artful compact I intend to devise, that 
we shall correspond with each other, he giving me news of 
the old world, I giving him news of the new. There is 
much that is novel and interesting in life on these gold- 
diggings, and I shall contrive to make my letters interest- 
ing; and in his career at home in the old land I shall take 
a genuine interest. His letters will be like a breath of 
sweet air from the familiar scenes of my youth. I said I 
was disinterested in the advice I give to you. These last 
remarks make me afraid that it is selfish advice, but I beg 
you, dear sir, to believe that I offer it solely and entirely 
in the interests of your son. My wife and children have a 
very sincere affection for him, and will miss him as much 
as I shall myself. Believe me, my dear sir, to remain, 
with great respect. Yours very truly, 

HENRY M. BURLEIGH. 

From 0, Parton, London, to Frederick Parton, New Zealand, 

My dear boy, — I wrote to you three or four days ago, 
and here I find myself suddenly writing to you again. 
There are two special reasons for my taking up my pen 
again so soon. One springs from a circumstance in which 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


275 


I have had no hand and taken no part ; but it is full of signifi- 
cance for you and me. The other springs from my love for 
my dear lad. You may, if you please, call one fact and the 
other fancy, but the latter, my heart tells me, is as tang- 
ible as the former. I will speak of the fact first. 

My dear Frederick, Agnes is in London, driven from 
her father’s home because she refuses to marry a man whose 
' suit he favors. That this man is a scouncjrel I have ample 
' proof, and notwithstanding that I am now upholding a 
I child against her parent, I commend and approve of Agnes’ 
action in the matter. She has come ill provided with 
' funds, and is accompanied by two faithful friends, a noble 
I dog who shall sit to me for his picture, and the maid under 
i whose care you have written to Agnes from New Zealand, 
i She is therefore not without protectors. Her intention is 
to obtain some employment which will enable her to live 
I until the necessity no longer devolves upon her. I do not 
seek to oppose this design ; it is admirable and praise- 
I worthy, and I trust she will be able to carry it out. From 
i what I have learned the breach between her and her father 
is not likely to be healed. Bound by her promise to him 
with respect to yourself she remains true to you, and will 
wed no other man. She is a sweet and patient lady 
and I could wish my dear son no worthier 
wife, if it ever be your good fortune to be united to her. 
Until we meet, which I trust will be soon, you may depend 
that I shall look after her to the best of my ability. I will 
be a second father to her, kinder and tenderer hearted, I 
hope, than the father who has turned her from his doors. 
Do not forget, Frederick, that it is partly for your sake 
that this trial has come upon her, and that your presence 
would be a great comfort to her. What your future and 
hers will be it is not easy to say, but there would be a bet- 
ter prospect of its working out happily if you were nearer 
to her than you are. And this, my dear Frederick, brings 
me to my second reason for writing to you again so soon. 

I dreamt of you last night. I saw you toiling on the 
goldfields, surrounded by uncongenial companions, living an 
unhappy life in an atmosphere which must be repugnant to 


276 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


you, deprived of love and all that makes life sweet. So 
mournful was your appearance in my dreams that I said, 
Can this being, seemingly on the brink of despair, be the 
dear bright lad that has been the sunshine of my days ? 
My heart went out to you, my dear son, and so great was 
my trouble when I awoke that I took all your letters from 
New Zealand, and read them carefully through. Frederick, 
a light seemed to. dawn upon me ; not till this morning have 
I read your letters aright. I read between the lines, and I 
saw that you were concealing your unhappiness from me, 
and that there was something prophetic in my dreams. My 
dear lad, you have worked on the goldfields and have been 
unsuccessful, and I can see clearly — I am writing now with 
a prophetic mind — that you have now less prospect of 
success *there than ever. A large fortune is not needed for 
happiness ; a modest competence will serve ; and you have 
even here a brighter chance of gaining the former than 
where you are now so miserably toiling, away from home, 
and separated from all who are dear to you. Yes, Fred- 
erick, I not only read your letters again, I looked through 
your sketches and studied them by the new light. My dear 
lad, there is more promise in them than I ever discerned 
before ; it is in your power to achieve great success, and you 
know what success as an artist means in England. It means 
fortune as well as fame — it means happiness — it means 
Agnes. When you have won distinction her father can no 
longer hold out. Come home, then, without delay, and 
work for your reward, come home and win it. My dear 
lad, I need you — my heart cries out for you ; Agnes needs 
you ; when she takes your hand in hers, brightness will 
come again into her eyes ; your presence will lighten her 
heart. I implore you not to refuse. My heart tells me 
something more — that you have not the money to pay for 
your passage home. I enclose a draft that will defray all 
your expenses. We will work together hand in hand, side 
by side, and all my early hopes will blossom into fiower at 
my son s success. Surely I need say no more than I have 
already said. Make all you love happy by not losing a 
single day after the receipt of this letter. With heartfelt 
love. I am, ever your affectionate father, G. PARTON. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE, 


211 


THE FOURTH LINK 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

It was the night before the Derby, and the Royal Palace 
of Pleasure was crowded. Every portion of the palatial 
building with one exception, was packed by an audience 
draw^n from all classes of society, St. James and St. Giles 
and all their various intermediate grades being fully repre- 
sented. To these mixed qualities, from the highly intel- 
ligent to the idiotically vacuous, the entertainment provided 
by the enterprising managers of the Royal Palace of 
Pleasure appeared to be equally palatable. Even the 
thoughtful-minded sat, and looked, and listened with ap- 
parent satisfaction. 

The one unoccupied portion of the music-hall was a 
capacious stage box on the O. P. side, which the habitual 
humble frequenters of the Palace of Pleasure regarded with 
some such feelings as they would have regarded the Throne 
Room of a real Royal palace. That it was engaged and 
was intended to be occupied some time during the evening 
was evident from the preparations which had been made 
for expected visitors. Costly bouquets had been provided, 
and special programmes printed on satin ; and it was 
observed by the aforesaid habitual frequenters that new 
chairs with gilt backs had been put into the box. Com- 
municating with this box at the back were two private 
apartments, completely hidden from the view of the 
audience, one a dressing room for ladies, the other a saloon 
luxuriously furnished. At the present moment it was 
more than usually attractive with a display of glass, and 
fruit, and flowers ; and a promise of revelry was held out 
by two ice pails containing some dozen bottles of '74 Pom- 
mery. 


278 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I say, Bill,’' whispered a woman to her neighbor in the 
gallery, '' who’s a-coming to-night in that box there ? Some 
swells, I should say, by the looks of it.” 

I did ’ear,” replied Bill, who was generally supposed 
to be gifted with witty and sarcastic power, that her 
between- July-and-September Majesty the Queen is going 
to honor us with a visit, for the special purpose of ’earing 
wot’s going to win the Derby. She’s got a dollar or two 
she wants to put on.” 

‘'Git -out with yer,” said the woman. “Wot d’yer 
mean with yer bet ween- July-and-September Majesty ? ” 

“ Don’t yer know ? ” exclaimed Bill. “ You ’ave been 
nicely brought up, you ’ave. Wot month comes between 
July and September ? ” 

“ August, o’ course.” 

“ That’s it,” said Bill, chuckling. “ That’s wot they call 
the Queen — her August Majesty.” 

“ What do they call ’er that for, and wot does it stand 
for ? ” 

“ There yer floor me,” said Bill. “ Blest if I know. The 
next time she comes to see me I’ll arks ’er.” 

“Wot is going to win the Derby, Bill?” asked the 
woman, coaxingly. 

“D’yer think I’m going to tell yer for nothink?” re- 
torted Bill. “ Not me 1 ” 

“ I’ll stand yer a pint. Bill, if yer give me the tip.” 

“All right, old gal. The favorite’s going to wdn, as 
sure as yer’ve got a ’ead on yer shoulders. I ain’t going to 
break my jaw in pernouncing ’is name. It commences 
with A , and ends with A, and it’s got a lot of A’s in the 
middle. There’s the straight tip for yer, and don’t yer 
forgit it.” 

“ Ain’t Morning Glory got a chance. Bill ? ” 

“ Morning Glory ! ” exclaimed Bill, with intense feeling. 
“ Not a ghost of a chance. I got it from ’Arry Lobb — he’s 
in the training stable, yer know. Well, he ses, ses ’Arry, 
that the favorite’s on the job this time, and nothink can 
stop ’im. I wouldn’t tell it to everybody, but I’ll tell it to 
you, ’cause you ain’t ’arf a bad sort — put your bottom 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


279 


dollar on the favorite, and yer 11 see ’im romp in. I got 
four to one a month ago, and now it's a even chance. My 
brother the Lurcher ses he to me, he ses, ' If I wos you, 
Bill, I’d 'edge.' 'Edge ! Not if I know it. It ain't orfen 
yer git a certainty, and this is too good a thing to throw 
away. Wot do jyou think?" The speaker suddenly 
paused, and with two curled palms of his hands before his 
eyes made as if he was looking through a pair of opera 
glasses. '' Well, I’m blest ! D’yer see that bloke there in 
the box, looking at the flowers ? " 

‘‘ Yes, I see 'im. Bill." 

''That's Mr. Redwood, as the favorite belongs to. I'll 
bet that’s 'is private box, and that he's got a party coming 
to-night. He used to race in the name of Larkworthy, 
but he sails in 'is own boat now. All through a woman, 
I've 'eerd, as he's nuts on." 

" Who’s the woman. Bill ?" 

" You know 'er. Everybody knows 'er. 'Onoria. ' She's 
a lucky one, she is — and what a beauty ! You’d like to 
stand in 'er shoes, you would." 

" Not my luck ! D’yer think it's 'er that’s coming to 
the box to-night ?" 

"It’s odds on, I should say." 

" I am glad, that I am. I’ve never set eyes on 'er. I'd 
sooner see 'er than the Queen, that I would." 

" You’ll see something when she sets in the box there 
with 'er back to the stage. She always does that ; it's one 
of 'er tricks, and she's as full of 'em as an unbroken colt. 
Yes, you’ll see something worth seeing. She’s a blaze of 
dymens, she is : the Princess of Wales don't dress 'arf as 
well." 

" And that Mr. Redwood there is sweet on ’er. I can't 
say I like the looks of ’im." 

" You'd put up with that if he took a fancy to yer. 
Sweet on 'er ! That's not 'arf wot he is. He's mad in love 
with 'er, and they do say she treats 'im as if he was no 
better than the dirt under 'er feet.” 

" Ah," said the woman, proudly, " she knows 'er way 
about, she does. Good luck to 'er ! The minute a woman 


280 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


gives way to a man he s ready to set ’is ’eel on ’er. I’ve 
found that out, and if my time was to come over agin them 
as made up to me would see the difference. I suppose that 
Mr. Redwood gives ’er the dymens she wears.” 

He fairly loads ’er with ’em. TVIy brother the Lurcher 
knows the sister of a servant of ’er’n, and she tells ’im a 
lot. She’s a rum ’un is ’Onoria in more ways than one. 
Sometimes when Mr. Redwood comes to see ’er she calls 
out ’erself. ' Tell Mr. Redwood I’m not at ’ome.’ That’s 
cool, ain’t it ?” 

'' It’s the way to serve ’em. He must be very rich to 
give ’er all them presents.” 

'' There’s no end to ’is money, and he’s going the pace, 
he is. ’Ere’s Baby Biffin. That’s yer style !” 

A performance on the trapeze had permitted of tliis 
conversation without disturbing the enjoyment of the 
audience, but the appearance of Baby Biffin on the stage 
put an end to it. Baby Biffin was not a baby ; she was a 
woman grown, of goodly proportions, and her age could not 
have been less than twenty -five. Nevertheless, she dressed 
(or, rather, undressed), posed, and conducted herself as a 
child of tender years, under most extraordinary and 
unnatural conditions, might by a miracle have done. The 
presumption is a daring one, and is made here merely 
because a large majority of the audience derived enjoyment 
from her performance, and saw nothing discrepant in it. 
She rolled her eyes, she minced and lisped her words, she 
pouted, she twisted her body, she sang in a fashion by no 
means infantile. A more complete parody upon the title 
she had assumed and was known by in music hall circles 
could scarcely be conceived. In the display of her person 
she left little to the imagination, her actions were vulgar 
and coarse, her voice was brassy, her features were thick 
with paint, her hair (there were several heads of it) hung 
below her waist. There were rumors of her having entangled 
a young gentleman of noble lineage, and this was regarded 
as a distinction, and undoubtedly added to her popularity. 
During her singing and dancing she carried on a running 
interlude with vacuous swells in stalls and boxes which fired 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


281 


them into immense enthusiasm. They laughed, they crowed, 
they clapped their hands, they wriggled their shoulders, 
they went into convulsions of delight, they threw flowers to 
her, they shouted the refrain to her popular song, I am 
such a delicate duck, dear boys, Duck, dear boys. Duck, dear 
boys/’ and when she Anally retired, throwing kisses to them 
from the tips of her Angers, which were plastered with rings, 
she was followed with deafening applause. The most 
harmless and enjoyable contributors to the entertainment 
in this Royal Palace of Pleasure were those who performed 
in dumb show— such as a slack rope dancer, an illusionist, 
and a Japanese, whose manipulation of knives, cups, balls, 
plates, and other requirements of his art, was marvellous. 
Of the others who sang and danced at least half were 
vulgar and coarse, and some indecent. It was not the words 
to which objection could be taken — though they were, as a 
rule, silly enough, and utterly devoid of literary merit — 
but the actions which accompanied them, the suggestive 
leer or wink, which conveyed into the words an interpretation 
which should never be allowed in a place of public 
entertainment. 

On this night less attention than usual was paid to the 
artists. In such places as the Palace of Pleasure the night 
before the Derby is a night of nights ; to many it is the 
night of the year. The excitement and animation were 
wonderful ; the prevailing dominant thought was the race 
which was to be run to-morrow. The name of the favorite 
which Bill in the gallery declined to pronounce was Abra- 
cadabra; the name of the second favorite was Morning 
Glory. Would the favorite win ? That was the one burn- 
ing, the almost vital, question of the hour. A wild delirium 
raged through the house, from floor to ceiling, from the 
back of the gallery to the back of the stage. The fevered 
pulses beat rythmically : Would the — Favor — Ite win ? 
Would the — Favor — Ite win ? Would the — Favor — Ite win ? 
Everyone answered the question in the affirmative, and yet 
everyone continued to ask it of his neighbor. There was 
scarcely a person in all that vast multitude who did not 
have some direct or indirect interest in the race — a chance 


282 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


in a sweep, a bet or a share in a bet, from thousands of 
pounds down to a threepenny piece, and every speaking or 
singing artist who appeared upon the stage contrived to 
introduce the subject in a manner agreeable to the audience. 
In the next private box to that containing a bevy of 
painted haridans sat a doctor, an author, a soldier, and an 
editor, all of them famous, and these were discussing Abra- 
cadabra. In the stalls were young and old swells “ seeing 
life,'' youthful members of the aristocracy fresh from col- 
lege, coming or come into their fortunes, swindling hawks 
who were tracking them down, a large sprinkling of the 
demi-monde, lawyers, visitors from the country, and other 
component parts of fashion and society, and these were 
discussing Abracadabra. In the pit were respectable work- 
ing men and their wives, young artisans and their sweet- 
hearts a-courting, clerks, shopkeepers, and others of the 
middle stratas, and these were discussing Abracadabra. In 
the gallery were shop-boys, work-girls, apprentices, coster- 
mongers, laborers, and the sweeping of the streets and lod- 
ing- houses, and these were discussing Abracadabra. Be- 
hind the scenes and in the dressing-rooms, up in the flies 
and down in the cellars, those employed in the Royal Palace 
of Pleasure were all discussing Abracadabra. Sprinkled 
every portion of the house, before and behind the foot- 
lights, were racing men of high ard low degree, owners, 
trainers, jockeys, stable men and boys, touts, tipsters, book- 
makers, and hangers-on, and these, though they were in the 
swim, as the saying is, were all discussing Abracadabra. 
They were the oracles of the night, and the words that 
dropped from their lips were esteemed as pearls of price, 
and were passed around with profound admiration and re- 
spect. When the chances of other horses engaged in the 
great contest were spoken of, it was in a half-hearted, de- 
preciatory fashion. Some said Morning Glory had a good 
chance ; some said there was a dark horse in the race that 
would open people's eyes ; instances of hot favorites being 
beaten, anecdotes of Hermit at sixty-six to one, and of 
other noted winners, were freely circulated ; but in the 
long run they all came back to Abracadabra, whose glory 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


283 


it was impossible to dim. “ It s a moral ; It s all over 
but the shouting ; ’’ “ Have a bit on the favorite ; ” this was 
the sum of all the eager talk. 

Naturally, when Mr. Louis Redwood was observed in 
the stage-box, attention was drawn to him by reason of his 
being Abracadabra's owner, and the whisper went round 
that he stood to lose a hundred thousand pounds upon his 
horse. Some said he looked anxious, some said it made no 
difference to him whether his horse won or not, that he had 
enough money to sink a ship, and so on, and so on. Opera 
glasses were levelled at him as he stood in the box, gazing 
insolently upon the sea of faces. 

‘"That man is a study," observed the doctor, in the 
private box j you should make use of him." This to the 
author, who nodded, with his eyes fixed upon Mr. Redwood s 
face. 

He's an infernal scoundrel, IVe heard," observed the 
soldier. 

The editor said nothing ; as he gazed he was thinking 
of men who once were high, and now were low. 

A sound of voices and the rustling of skirts in the rear 
of the private box in which Louis Redwood was standing 
drew him away, and he went and opened the door. 

Honoria ! " he cried, holding out his hands, with an 
eager light in his eyes. He was not acting a part ; for once 
in his life the man was genuine and sincere. 

Ah, Redwood," said Honoria, in a careless tone. He 
offered to assist her in removing her wraps, but she said, 
“ No, thank you," in her coldest voice, and turned to a 
gentleman who had accompanied her into the box, and 
accepted his assistance instead. 

‘‘Good evening. Redwood," said this gentleman 

“ Good evening. Major," said Redwood. 

Major Causton was a middle-aged gentleman, with a 
long tawny moustache, which he twisted and twisted when 
his hands were not otherwise employed. The two men 
eyed each other in differing fashion. Redwood warily, the 
Major coolly and unconcernedly. Honoria glanced at them 
and smiled. 


284 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


You are late, Honoria,’' said Redwood. 

“ Am IV said Honoria, and stepped to the front of the 
box. The stage was vacant at this moment, and the superb 
beauty of the notorious woman drew everybody’s eyes upon 
her. 

'' There’s ’Onoria,” said Bill in the gallery. 

“ Why, you said she’d be ablaze of dymens,” cried the 
disappointed woman. 

There was not a jewel upon Honoria. She was dressed 
in black ; straight, upright, and regally beautiful, she stood 
in full view of the house, perfectly unmoved and self-pos- 
sessed. A group of artists in a comer of the stalls scanned 
her admiringly. 

" Cleopatra,” said one. 

Zenobia,” said the second. 

“ The Magdalen,” said the third. 

“ Which do you think is the most interesting study ? ” 
asked the author of the editor. 

‘‘ The story of Honoria,” said the editor, “ should prove, 
from the cradle to the grave, to be one of the most remark- 
able of the age.” 

Don’t talk of the grave,” said the soldier, “ in connec- 
tion with that lovely creature.” He turned red. There 
was a dangerous magnetism in Honoria, and her eyes were 
turned in his direction. 

“ Are you acquainted with her history ? ” asked the 
author. 

Something of it,” replied the editor. 

'' I should much like to hear it.” 

'' Not here and now. Later on I will relate w^hat I 
know. In some respects it is singular, in others common 
enough ; but it promises developments.” 

“ One can never foretell,” remarked the doctor, ‘‘ how 
these women will end.” 

“ As a rule,” said the author, they suddenly disappear, 
and, after a torpid period, emerge as elderly ballet girls.” 

'' Or as lodging-house keepers,” suggested the doctor. 

That will not be Honoria’s fate,” said the editor. 
“ She will not degenerate into either a lodging-house 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


285 


keeper, or an elderly ballet girl, living upon past glories. 
Have you seen her ride ? 

“Yes, and she is a perfect horsewoman. You open up 
another possibility. She may become, for a time, the star 
of a circus.’^ 

“ That requires early training, in which respect Honoria 
is deficient. She is really remarkably beautiful. Nor is 
it a spring beauty which perishes with the season. If she 
is careful of herself, her summer and winter will be quite 
as attractive.” 

“ You are all talking heresy,” interposed the soldier, 
warmly. “ I elect myself her champion. She is as good 
as she is beautiful.” The others exchanged a significant 
smile, which did not escape the soldiers observation. 
“ Where are diamonds found ? ” he asked. 

“ In the most unlikely places,” replied the editor. 

“ Washed out of the mire,” said the soldier. 

“True — in the rough. But this one is polished. You 
have lived long out of England, and are ignorant of the 
A B C of certain phases of our civilized life. You will 
grow wiser by and by, and will think as we do.” 

“ God forbid ! ” said the soldier, gazing earnestly upon 
Honoria. 


I CHAPTER XXX. 

“ Do you like the box ? ” asked Louis Redwood, as Honoria 
seated herself. 

“ It is like other boxes,” she answered, with an air of 
indifFerence. 

He bit his lip. “ I had these programmes printed for 

I ou.” He put one of -the satin slips before her. The 
owers please you, I hope.” 

“ I prefer simple flowers,” she said. 

“ I will think of that next time.” 

“ I would not trouble myself.” 

I You know the pleasure it gives me to consult your 
[testes, to gratify your wishes.” 


286 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“ Does it ? Major Causton, is that a man or a woman 
singing ? ’’ Her back was towards the stage, and she was 
surveying the audience. 

“ An old woman,” replied the Major, in short skirts, 
casting amorous glances on gilded youth.” 

How ridiculous ! Causton is very amusing.” This 
observation was addressed to Redwood. 

Very,” he said, with a scowl. 

Copy him. You could not do better.” 

I will give you lessons. Redwood,” said the Major, with 
a broad grin on his face. 

“ Thank you ; I do not require them.” 

“ You are mistaken,” said Honoria, without glancing at 
him. You require them badly. Does he not. Major.*’ 

I’ll not venture to say,” replied the Major, good- 
humouredly. I find it difficult enough to steer my own 
boat.” 

She laughed aloud, and played with her fan. 

Honoria,” said Redwood, in an undertone bending over 
her, I will do anything to please you.” 

It does not look like it. Pray move away ; I don’t 
wish you to come so close to me.” * 

You are wearing me out,” he muttered. 

“ Give is up, then,” she retorted scornfully. “ Try else- 
where.” 

“I am not to be shaken off so easily,” he said. We 
shall see who will win in the end.” 

“ Yes, we shall. There is, after all, a little enjoyment 
in a battle of this kind. He took out his cigar case. “ If 
you begin to smoke I shall leave the box.” He replaced 
the case with a savage look. What is the stable news ? ” 

“ Everything is right. The horse was never better in 
his life.” 

You will win ? ” 

‘‘ I can’t lose.” 

Don’t reckon your chickens. Redwood.” There was no 
malice in her tone ; they were conversing now amicably 

“ I reckon these. There never was such a certainty. I’ve 
been offered tventy thousand for my book.” | 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


287 


“ Lucky dog ! said Major Causton. You win at 
everything.” 

'' Not at everything,” said Honoria. “ Eh, Redwood ? ” 

“ Don’t begin again, or I’ll scratch the horse at the last 
minute.” 

You would never dare to show your face on a race- 
course again if you did,” said Honoria. “ But if Abraca- 
dabra were out of the race what difference would that make 
to me ? ” 

I’ll tell you what you stand to win on him, if you 

like.” 

'' Yes, do.” From her words it might be supposed that 
she took an interest in the subject, but her voice betrayed 
the most absolute indifference. 

Louis Redwood consulted his betting-book. Twenty- 
eight thousand pounds,” he said. 

'' And to lose ? ” 

Nothing. You know that well enough.” 

Causton,” said Honoria, '' how much do I stand to win 
on Morning Glory ? ” 

'' What ! ” cried Louis Redwood, white with rage. 

'' A true bill,” she said calmly. '' I’ve learn’t something 
of the world, and I play my own game. How much. Major ? ” 

'' Thirty odd thou., my dear.” 

Stop that, if you please. Not even from you; not 
even to vex Redwood.” 

I throw myself at your feet, lady fair,” said Major 
Causton, undisturbed by the check, '' but if you will be so 
infernally bewitching, what can a poor beggar do ? ” 

Do you mean to say,” exclaimed Redwood, ‘^that you’ve 
been backing Morning Glory without my knowledge ? ” 

'' There’s no denying it, is there, Major ? ” 

'' There’s no denying it, lady fair.” 

'' The Major,” said Honoria, '•' has been my commission 
agent.” 

For how long has this been going on ?” asked Red- 
wood. 

Ever since you began to put me on Abracadabra.” 

'' You must be out of your senses.” 


288 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“Very much in them, dear boy,” said the Major. “ Very 
much in them. Lady fair has brains. Brains ! Hanged 
if the word expresses it. Her intellect is gigantic. There’s 
no stopping her, dear boy. But I’m telling tales out of 
school.” 

“ I have no objection to Redwood’s knowing every- 
thing now,” said Honoria, smiling on the two men — a smile 
which caused the soldier in another private box to 
mutter under his breath, “ By heavens, she’s bewitch- 
ing !” Honoria continued : “ Make him acquainted with 
our proceedings. Major.” 

“ Most interesting proceedings. Commenced in Febru- 

“ Morning Glory was at twenties then,” volunteered 
Redwood. 

“ And twenty-fives, dear boy. Lady fair heard a whisper. 
A little bird came down the chimney, she said. A pretty 
fancy,” 

“ One of those childish fancies,” said Honoria, with 
composure, gazing steadily at Redwood, “ that the children 
of the poor have. Did you know. Major, that I was once a 
very poor little girl, and sometimes had hardly enough to 
eat?” 

“ You don’t say so, lady fair ? It is amazing. But what 
a romance I You’re joking, though.” 

“ I assure you I am not. Even up to the time I was 
eighteen I did not know what it was to have a sovereign 
in my purse. I was a very unfortunate young woman.” 

“ You distress me, upon my honor you distress me. 
What an infernal hardship !” 

“ A very unfortunate, simple young woman,” proceeded 
Honoria, very calmly; “I believed everything that was 
whispered into my silly little ears. I believed in truth, in 
honor, in faithfulness — I believed even in love.” 

“ More and more like a romance. And did your lover 
deceive you ? Show me the man. I will make an example 
of him.” 

“ No ; the subject annoys Redwood. He would rather 
hear about that little bird.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


289 


It came down the chimney, she said, Redwood, and 
whispered, ‘Morning Glory, Morning Glory/ She swore 
me to secrecy, and I put five hundred on for her at twen- 
ties and twenty-fives. She made other investments after- 
wards, when she won on the Lincoln, and a bit more two 
flays afterwards, when she won on the Grand National.’’ 

I “ When Abracadabra’s number goes up,” said Redwood, 
with Morning Glory fifth or sixth — that’s about where 
pe’ll be — it will make a hole in your winnings. And serve 
you right.” 

i “ Mistaken, dear boy, mistaken,” said Major Causton. 

We’ve hedged, and stand to win either way. That is all 
I am permitted to disclose.” 

“ You can tell him the other thing, Major.” 

“ About Abracadabra, lady fair ? ” 
i “Yes.” 


I am to hear now,” said Redwood, bitterly, “that you’ve 
n laying against my horse. I hope you have. Don’t 


pome to me to get you out of the mess.” 

I “ When do you think that is likely to occur ? ” asked 
Honoria, with quiet scorn. “ I am not accountable to you 
||or my actions, and I advise you to be careful in the tone 
jyou adopt towards me. Redwood.” 

r “ You’re enough to drive a man mad,” said Redwood, 
r Go on with your story, Causton, as I’m bound to hear it. 
Ilore little birds, I suppose.” 

“ You’ve fired straight this time, dear boy. Other little 
birds come down the chimney, and whisper to lady fair that 
Abracadabra will be second in the Derby.” 

“ What wise little birds,” sneered Redwood. “ But we’ve 
heard that sort of thing before. A woman lies in bed the 
night before a big race, with her window curtain up. 
Waking suddenly and opening her eyes she sees a star. The 
next day she relates her dream, and asks what star it was 
that shone upon her in the middle of the night, and is told 
it’s Mars. That’s the name of a horse in the race, and it 
happens that Mars wins. ‘ I knew it would,’ she cries. 

What a fool I was not to back it ! I shall never get such 
janother chance.’ It is easy to prophesy after the event. If 


290 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


by some cursed stroke of luck Abracadabra is second instead 
first Honoria will be mourning that she didn't take 
advantage of the tip given to her by her little birds.” 

“ She has taken advantage of it, dear boy. She has 
accepted fair odds that Abracadabra is second, and second' 
only. She stands to win a pot on it.” I 

‘‘ Indeed ! I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Honoria. If] 

Abracadabra is second in the Derby, I will make you a] 
present of a horse.” 1 

'' I hold you to your promise,” said Honoria. “ You are] 
a witness. Major.” I 

I am, fair lady.” J 

“ Is a witness necessary ? ” asked Redwood, witH 
suppressed passion. Did you ever know me make aj 
promise I didn’t perform ? ” ^ I 

“ I do,” said Honoria.” ‘‘ Carry your memory back, ■ 
Redwood.” ^ 

His face darkened ; he knew to what she referred. They| 
gazed at each other in silence for a few moments and then 
Honoria turned to the stage, upon which a fresh artist hadi 
just made his appearance. 1 

He was the star of the evening, and the song he was 
about to sing had been in everybody’s mouth for weeks 
past. Men had reeled through the street singing it tipsily, 
errand boys had whistled it, policemen had hummed it on^ 
their nightly beats, it had been accepted as a charm, and 
its effect had been to considerably shorten the odds on the' 
favorite for the Derby. In point of literary merit it was 
no better and no worse than the generality of such effusions, 
but it had brought additional popularity to the already 
popular singer, who had sung it night after night in three 
different music halls, the audiences in which had taken up 
the refrain with that unanimous enthusiasm which is a^ 
common feature in those places of entertainment when a^ 
song strikes their fancy. A single verse of the delectable^ 
stuff will suffice for an illustration, one rhyme being altered , 
by the composer and singer in token of its being trolled ^ 
out the day before the race was to be run : 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


291 


I “ Stake your last dollar, 

I Pawn your shirt collar — 

Abracadabra 

I Is first past the post. 

Be^, steal, or borrow, 

Back me to-morrow 

Abracadabra 

Has got ’em on toast. 

Abracadabra, 

Abracadabra, 

Abracadabra 

Has got ’em on toast. ” 

The audience roared out the chorus at the top of their voices, 
and when the popular singer turned his back to them, and 
exhibited the letters of the horse’s name so arranged per- 
pendicularly and horizontally that Abracadabra was spelt 
either way, the laughter and applause became deafening. 
He was recalled half-a-dozen times, and each time sang a 
. fresh encore verse which he had prepared for his admirers. 
At length he was allowed to retire for good, and the audi- 
ence calmed down somewhat. 

During this excitement Honoria had sat back in the box, 
in such a position that she could not be seen, and when 
comparative quiet reigned in the house, she asked Major 
Causton to call her carriage. 

I Going ? ” inquired Redwood. 

' I must get some beauty sleep,” was her response, 
j May I see you home ? ” 

'' Distinctly, no.” 

i Honoria,” he pleaded, '' will you always treat me in 
this manner ? ” 

I haven’t the least idea what the future has in store 
for me, or for you,” she answered. You will recollect a 
certain night when we met in Chudleigh Woods ? ” 

I Why^ will you always dwell upon that ? Have I not 
admitted my blindness ? Have I not begged you a thousand 
times to forgive me ? ” 

I have never told you, I think,” she said, '' that I was 
near putting an end to myself that night, nor how I was 
prevented and saved ? ” 

No, you have never told me, nor do I wish to hear. 
Forget it, once and for all.” 


292 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


I can never forget it. I can see myself standing on 
the little wooden bridge, looking down into the lily pond. 
I can see the reflection of myself — ’’ He had opened a 
bottle of champagne, and he handed her a glass. She took 
it from him, and gazed upon the sparkling bubbles, but did 
not drink. “ I will tell you some day. ... I was 
in rags, and almost starving. Very different from 
now, Austin*’ — a singular smile crossed her lovely lips as 
she addressed him by the old name — ‘‘ I beg your pardon, 
I was forgetting — Redwood, I mean.” 

Have done,” he cried, tossing off a glass of champagne, 
which increased instead of assuaging the fever of thirst 
that was on him. You have punished me sufficiently for 
my fault.” 

‘‘ Do you know,” she continued, relentlessly, “ that I 
walked all the way from London to see you — I told you at 
the time, I remember, and you said, how I must have en- 
joyed myself. I threatened to expose you, and you asked 
who would take the word of a thief and a wanton against 
that of a gentleman ? You were right. Redwood. I did 
not know the world then. I know it now. Yes, I was 
not only a vanton ; I was a thief ; and yet you knew well 
I was neither. Give me your opinion of your conduct.” 

“ It was brutal,” he said sullenly. 

It was that, at least ; the word is too mild. . . . 

I was in rags ; the soles were worn off my feet ; despair 
was in my soul ; death seemed my only refuge ! ” 

For God’s sate,” he cried, talk of something else ! ’’ 

‘‘ But I want to remind you. Redwood,” she said, put- 
ting down her un tasted glass of champagne. “ You said 
the little comedy in which we played the principal parts 
was finished. Why, Redwood, it was only the first act 
that was over ; even now it is not finished.” 

She was suddenly interrupted. From the stage came 
a scream of agony, answered by shrieks from the pit. 
Instinctively they moved to the front of the box. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


293 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

The cries of pain and alarm were caused by an accident to 
a small band of acrobats who had been doing* their “ turn.” 
Two athletic men, lying on their backs with their legs 
raised in the air, had been tossing a diminutive boy from 
one to the other on the soles of their feet. The most diffi- 
cult part of the boy's performance consisted in his being 
sent flying upwards by one of the men, and in his alighting 
in a standing position on the soles of the other man's feet. 
Before he alighted he had to turn a double somersault. He 
had twice missed his mark, and as it is a point of professional 
honor not to relinquish an act till it is accomplished, the 
boy was sent flying in the air a third time. But the little 
fellow by this time was exhausted and bewildered, and after 
turning the first somersault and a part of the second he fell 
in a heap, his head striking the stage. Having given utter- 
ance to his sharp scream of agony he became insensible. 
The answering shrieks in the pit had proceeded from his 
mother. 

When Honoria and Louis Redwood reached the front of 
their box, the two elder acrobats were bending over the 
boy, the curtain was being lowered, the mother was clam- 
bering over the pit seats towards the stage, and the whole 
house was in confusion. The doctor in the opposite private 
box, which was on the pit tier, had made known that he 
was a medical man, and was being assisted along the 
cushions to the stage. 

Honoria, who had been behind the scenes of the Royal 
Palace of Pleasure, knew that the wretched dressing rooms 
of this music hall could only be reached by means of a long 
narrow spiral staircase, and that it would be a matter of 
time and difficulty to carry the sufferer to a place where he 
could be properly attended to. She said hurriedly to Red- 
wood, 


294 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Let him be brought up here ; there is better accom- 
modation and more room.” 

Redwood disappeared through a door at the side of tiie 
box which led to the stage, the free privilege of going 
behind the scenes and mixing with the performers being 
generally granted to those who occupied the principal box 
in the Palace of Pleasure. 

Honoria, after seeing that the sofa in the adjoining 
spacious room was free, waited at the door, througli which, 
presently, the boy was carried. The doctor and his friends, 
the woman from the pit, and the two acrobats in their 
tights and fleshings, accompanied him. While the boy was 
being attended to, the manager of the music hall made his 
appearance upon the stage, and said he was happy to inform 
the audience that the lad was not seriously injured, and 
that the performance would be continued ; and immediately 
afterwards the band struck up the tune of one of the most 
popular songs of the day. 

Is he much hurt ? ” asked Honoria, of the doctor. 

“ A rib is broken,” was the answer. It will be best to 
take him to a hospital.” 

But against this proposal the woman from the pit, who 
was the boy’s mother, violently protested. The boy should 
be taken home to her own lodgings, she said, and no one 
else should nurse and look after him. They strove to per- 
suade her to adopt the more sensible course, but she would 
not be persuaded, and as her right to decide could not be 
disputed they were compelled to let her have her way. It 
appeared that the boy, a mere child about eight years of 
age, was comparatively new to the business, and had been 
hired out by the mother, a very poor woman, to the two 
acrobats, against whom nothing could be urged except that 
they were following a dangerous occupation. They were 
very much concerned at the accident, and were ruefully 
contemplating the prospect of having to break their 
engagements. 

You said there wasn’t a bit of danger,” said the mother 
to them, with flaming eyes, “ when j^^ou persuaded me to 
let you have him. I wish I’d bit my tongue off before I 
said yes.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


295 


It ain’t our fault, mother,” said one of the men. You 
jest ask him when he comes to whether we knocked him 
about, and whether he didn’t like us. If he'd been my own 
brother he couldn’t have been better treated. It licks me 
how it ever happened.” 

Redwood wondered at the interest Honoria was taking 
in the confounded affair,” but he did not venture to express 
himself to that effect. The gentlemen from the opposite 
box all inwardly commended Honoria, and if any one had 
hard thoughts of her they were much softened by her 
behaviour on this occasion. Redwood had opened a couple 
of bottles of champagne in lieu of something better to do, 
but only he and the two acrobats drank. A little brandy 
for the lad had been sent for. 

How’s he getting on ? ” asked the manager of the hall, 
coming into the room. 

'' He’ll geb over it,” replied the doctor, with care and 
good nursing.” He rose to his feet, and said to Honoria, 
'' I can do nothing more for him at present. He should be 
got home and put to bed as soon as possible.” 

''Will it be a long job, sir?” inquired one* of the 
acrobats. 

" It is impossible to say,” replied the doctor, " but he 
will not be fit for your kind of work again.” 

The men nodded gravely, and took their departure. 

" I will take the poor fellow home in my carriage,” said 
Honoria to the mother, "if you won’t mind.” 

" Mind, miss ! ” exclaimed the grateful woman. " God 
bless you for it. You’ve got a heart, you have.” 

" Will you come with us ? ” asked Honoria, addressing 
the doctor. 

" If you wish,” he said. 

" I shall feel obliged. It will be a relief and a satisfac- 
tion to his mother. Excuse me for saying that I make 
myself responsible for everything.” These last words were 
uttered to him aside. 

" There will, be no expense so far as I am concerned,” 
he said, gazing with curiosity and interest at her. " I 
shall be happy to attend to him till he is able to get about 
again.” 


296 


TIES, HUMAi^ AND DIVINE. 


You are very good/’ 

The doctor turned to his companions, with whom he had 
promised to spend the evening. They were to sup with 
him after the entertainment was over. 

We will follow in a cab,” said the soldier, ''and wait 
outside for you.” 

Honoria glanced at him, and the color came into his 
face. It was he who carried the boy down to the carriage, 
and lifted him in. The mother and the doctor then stepped 
in, and after them Honoria. 

" What are we to do, lady fair ? ” inquired Major Can- 
ston, who stood with Louis Redwood at the door of the 
carriage. 

Redwood was sullen and savage ; Honoria seemed to 
ignore his existence. 

"I am not at all interested in what you do,” said 
Honoria, as she gave the mother’s address to her coach- 
man, who drove away at a slow pace as he was directed, in 
order that the boy should not be jolted. 

Major Causton looked at Louis Redwood, and burst into 
a loud laugh. 

" Damn you,” cried Rockwood. " What are you laugh- 
ing at ? ” 

" At myself,” said Causton, heartily, " and you, and her, 
and the world in general. She’s an original. I shouldn’t 
wonder if she turned Sister of Mercy in the end. That 
woman. Redwood, is capable of anything.” 

" If ever I get hold of her again,” muttered Redwood, 
" I’ll make her pay for it.” 

Major Causton lit a cigar, and Redwood followed suit. 

" She’s a match for half a dozen of us,” said the Major, 
eyeing his companion thoughtfully. " I’ve seen something 
of women, but she puzzles me. Hanged if I can make out 
whether she’s bad or good at the bottom.” 

" You have nothing to complain of,” observed Redwood ; 
"you are in favor just now. It’s Major this, and Major 
that, and Major t’other with her all the time I happen to 
be by.” 

" That’s where it is,” rejoined the Major, " all the time 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


297 


you happen to be by. She plays me off against you, dear 
boy. Don’t you see ? She’s got you tight by the gills, and 
she knows how to play her line if ever any woman did. 
She has cost you a pretty penny. Redwood. That’s where 
I have the advantage of you. You are rich ; I am poor. I 
get my sport for nothing.” 

'' Sport, you call it ! ” exclaimed Redwood, savagely. 

'' Infernal torture, that’s what it is.” 

'' You take things too seriously, dear boy. Look at me.' 
Nothing puts me out. Lady fair smiles at me ; I smile in 
return. She frowns at me ; I shrug my shoulders. Be easy 
with her, as I am.” 

‘‘ I can’t ; it’s not in my nature. When I set my heart 
upon a thing I can’t help showing it. I grow savage, reck- 
less, and I’m carried on against my will. ” 

'' You’re changed from what you were, dear boy. Not 
long since it would have been hard to match you for cool- 
ness. Now you’re losing your head, and all through a 
woman. I say, what did you mean by saying if ever you 
get hold of her again ! That ' again ’ opens a chapter of 
past history. Was there ever anything between you and 
lady fair ? ” 

'' That’s my business. Mind your own.” 

Thanks for the hint. I will. And that reminds me 
that I’m in a tight fix just now. Cleaned out at baccarat 
last night, and my I. O. U.s flying all over the shop. Can 
you spare fifty, dear boy ? ” 

“ I’ll give you a cheque for it,” said Redwood readily. 
You’re a prince with your money, dear boy,” said 
Causton admiringly. “ It is right that men like you 
should have it to spend. But don’t go the pace too fast. 
For my sake, dear boy, for my sake. Can’t afford to let 
you get knocked over ; should mourn it deeply. What do 
you stand to lose on your horse to-morrow ? ” 

Nothing. The horse can’t lose. How did Honoria 
get that infernal stuff into her head about Morning Glory 
being first and Abracadabra second ? ” 

How does she get anything into her head ? Do you 
s uppose she takes me into her confidence ? It may look 


298 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


like it, but it’s not the case. I’ve been taking the odds for 
her on both events — there was no harm in that. If I hadn’t 
done it she would have shown me the door, and got some 
other fellow to do it.” 

You might have let me into the secret,” said Redwood, 
gloomily. 

Didn’t dare to, dear boy. She swore me to secrecy. I 
give you my honest word, she made me take a Bible oath 
to it. It would have been dangerous to throw out a hint 
to you, dear boy. You can’t keep your own counsel ; you 
would have let the cat out of the bag. She’s drawn you 
out a dozen times without you knowing it, to discover 
whether I’d been blabbing.” 

I dare say you’re right. It’s true, I suppose, about the 
money she stands to win on her fancy ? ” 

'' True as gospel, dear boy.” 

‘‘ She must have got a tip from some one. Have you 
any idea of tlie man ? ” 

I’ve no idea at all on the subject. She’s got any 
number of tips from any number of people. All of us have. 
It’s what brings so many of us to grief. My impression is 
that she is acting on her own fancy entirely, and she’s not 
quite a fool, dear boy.” 

She’s a fool in this matter, as she’ll find out before this 
time to-morrow.” 

‘'Well, the loss won’t hurt her much,” said Major 
Causton ; “ either way she wins a good stake. I suppose 
Beane’s all right.” 

Beane was the name of the jockey who was to ride 
Abracadabra. 

“Damn him ! ” cried Redwood. “ Who can tell ? There’s 
about one in ten of the whole lot of them that a man can 
feel safe with. They’re too much for us in the long run, 
Causton.” 

“ They are, dear boy. Here we are at the club.” 

As they stepped to the door a man in a maudlin condition 
passed by, singing — 

“ Abracadabra, 

Abracadabra, 

Abracadabra 

Has got ’em on toast. ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


299 


There's fame for you, dear boy," said the Major, 
laughing. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

''The little fellow is comfortable now," said the doctor, 
" and I think he will do very well." 

" Will you come to-morrow, sir ? " asked the anxious 
mother. 

"Yes, I will see him in the morning. I will drop in on 
my way to the station. You are going, I suppose ? " He 
put this question to Honoria as he drew on his gloves. 

" To the Derby ? " she said. " Oh, yes." 

" I saw the owner of Abracadabra in your box. They 
say the horse is certain to win." 

'* That is what he says himself. Have you backed it ? " 

" I throw awaj^ a few sovereigns every year," he replied, 
with a smile, on the Derby and the Leger, but I never put 
them on till the morning of the race." 

" I fancy Morning Glory," said Honoria. 

" Do you ? I shall divide my investment, then." 

" Good night," said Honoria, holding out her hand. 

" Can I not see you to your carriage ?" 

" No ; I shall remain here a little while." 

They shook hands, and he went down to his friends, 
who were waiting for him in the street. 

" That woman is incomprehensible," he said to them as 
they walked away. " I never witnessed greater kindness 
than she is showing to those poor people. They have made 
a good friend in her." 

" One has only to look in her face," said the soldier, " to 
know what she is. You promised to relate her history." 
This to the editor. 

" To a certain extent it is wrapped in mystery," said 
the editor, " which makes it all the more piquant. What 
I know of it is from hearsay. You must promise not to 
quarrel with me." 

" I promise," said the soldier. " I can believe as much 
of it as I please." 


300 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


To be sure you can. I am not certain as to when 
Honoria appeared in our social firmament, but she has 
been common talk for some time past. Where she hails 
from no one appears to know. It is said that Mr. Red- 
wood, the owner of the favorite for the Derby, 
could let in a light upon it if he chose. Whether that 
is so or not I cannot say myself. She appears to be on 
intimate terms with him.’^ 

If I am a judge of signs,’’ said the soldier, “ he appears 
to be forcing his company upon her. It is evident to me 
that she regards him with aversion.” 

“ That may be. Nevertheless, scandal couples them 
together, and there is no doubt that he is pursuing her 
with his attention.” 

“ By the way,” interrupted the doctor, “ she advised me 
to back Morning Glory to-morrow.” 

‘‘ I shall take her tip,” said the editor, “ believing Mr. 
Redwood to be capable of any trickery.” 

“ I am with you there,” said the soldier. 

“ Of course you are. He is not the only victim to her 
charms. There are a dozen infatuated gentlemen ready to 
throw their fortunes into her lap. I am not in a position 
to say that she gives them encouragement ; if she holds 
them off it makes the pursuit the hotter, as probably she 
knows.*’ 

'' I cannot commend you for fairness,’’ said the soldier, 
who was listening with evident impatience and disapproval. 
“ You assert that you are acquainted with particulars, and 
in proof of this you are regaling us with tittle-tattle. You 
have heard this, you have heard that. You are not in a 
position to say this, you are not in a position to say that, 
and yet, upon such an admission of ignorance, you make 
remarks which tend to place this lady in a bad light. It 
is a fashionable method of blasting character.” 

'' My dear sir,” said the editor, with mock solemnity, 
would you turn a deaf ear to the voice of scandal ? ” 
An absolutely deaf ear,” replied the soldier, indig- 
nantly, when the strongest evidence that can be brought 
to support it is the kind of stuff which you retail out.’' 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


301 


The editor was nettled. '' Have you ever seen a lady 
in such a position as you have seen Honoria this evening ? 
he asked. 

“ You mean,’’ said the soldier, '' occupying a private box 
in a notorious music hall, in the company of men of doubt- 
ful reputation ? I admit I should not like to see my sister 
there, but I believe that ladies of whom you would not 
presume to speak disrespectfully have been seen in music 
halls in the society men not famous for morality. There 
were plenty of respectable women in the Palace of 
Pleasure, in pit and gallery and circle ; why should the 
circumstance of one appearing in a private box make her 
infamous ? ” 

There is no arguing with this modern Don Quixote,” 
observed the editor, recovering his good humor, whose 
chivalrous defence almost converts me. But, indeed, I am 
by no means unkindly disposed towards Honoria, and I am 
inclined to overlook her faults because of her virtues and 
her commendable qualities.” 

Let us have a review of these,” said the soldier. 

"'Report says that when she first burst upon society 
she was not remarkable for education. Since that time 
she has undergone a most wonderful improvement. En- 
gaging capable tutors, she has learned to play, to sing, to 
draw, and to speak modern languages, no worse and no 
better perhaps than the ordinary modern young lady of 
fashion.” 

" That falsifies the presumption that she has a vicious 
mind,” 

" I thoroughly agree with you. It is not her mind, but 
her antecedents ” — 

“ Of which you know nothing.” 

" The antecedents which vague rumor ascribes to her, 
and also the style in which she lives, keeping horses, 
carriages, servants, have contributed to the scandal which, 
justly or unjustly, attaches to her name. On the other 
hand, it is known that she is charitable ; she gives to the 
poor, she contributes to deserving institutions. Upon the 
whole, if I commenced with the intention of traducing 


302 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Honoria I have made a bad case of it, as you will admit. 
She puzzles me, as she puzzles many others, and if she ever 
comes to grief I, for one, shall be sorry to hear it. I hope,” 
he said, turning to the soldier, ‘‘ I have made amends.” 

What you have said,” replied the soldier, strengthens 
the good opinion I have of her. There is not a lady in the 
land who could have acted more kindly than she did 
towards that poor lad who met with the accident. And 
now you must all come with me, and have a bit of supper.” 

And the incident being thus pleasantly terminated, they 
plunged into other topics upon which there was no diverg- 
ence of opinion. 

These gentlemen were not the only persons who were 
talking together on this night of Honoria and the unveiled 
story of her life. Our old friends, Mr. Millington and Mr. 
Barlow, were among the audience in the Royal Palace of 
Pleasure. They had come in late, just as the accident 
occurred, and had seen Honoria lean forward over her box. 

There’s" Honoria,” said Mr. Barlow, and Mr. Red- 
wood with her. She is sending him away. What for, I 
wonder ? ” 

They soon learned the reason. The news of Honoria s 
kindness quickly passed through the house, and reached 
their ears. 

'' She’s a trump, that woman,” said Mr. Barlow. “ I 
saw her carriage in front. Let us go and see what she’s 
up to.’" 

Mr. Barlow was a privileged person ; he had free ad- 
mission to many places of entertainment, the Royal Palace 
of Pleasure being among them. By virtue of this privilege 
he conveyed Mr. Millington to the back of the boxes, and 
there they witnessed something of what has already been 
described, and heard the rest. Without being themselves 
observed they followed Honoria and the boy’s mother, and 
the little band of gentlemen who had been present while 
the doctor was attending to the little fellow. Standing 
near the carriage they heard the address of the poor 
woman given to the coachman — No. 7, Wellington street. 
South Lambeth. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


303 


“ That's curious," said Mr. Barlow, as the carriage drove 
away. Was it No. 7, Millington ? " 

“Yes," replied Mr. Millington, “ that was the number. 
Why is it curious ? " 

I’ll tell you presently ; it will interest you." 

His attention was now centred upon Mr. Louis Redwood 
and Major Causton, who were standing on the kerb, looking 
after the carriage. He had heard the Major s laugh and 
Mr. Redwood’s angry exclamation. 

“ She has left them out in the cold," said Mr. Barlow, 
chuckling, “ and friend Redwood is ready to cut somebody’s 
throat. There’s an instance of retributive justice, Milling- 
ton, whether you believe in it or not. The man who made 
Honoria what she is, and would have laughed to see her 
starve and rot, would give every shilling he has in the world 
to make her his slave again. Just look at him. It’s a 
pleasant face, isn’t it ? ’’ 

“You don’t believe he has any hold on her now ?’’ asked 
Mr. Millington. 

“No more than I have; less I should say. It’s she 
that’s got a hold on him. She has been playing with him 
ever since that night we saw her at the theatre, when he 
made up to her and she gave him a look I can see now. It 
was when you gave up the Haldane commission, you know." 

“ Yes," said Mr. Millington, “I remember the night. You 
took me in the afternoon to Rotten Row, where Honoria 
was riding." 

“That’s the time. From that day to this she’s been 
leading him a dance, and she has played her game so 
cleverly that he has become almost desperate. Who would 
have thought she had such a head ? I would give some- 
thing to see her ruin him completely — and it’s on the 
cards, Millington, it’s on the cards." 

“ Why doesn’t he give her up ? " 

“ He can’t. He has never been fought in this way be- 
fore, and the longer the battle goes on the madder he grows, 
and the keener his longing to become her master once more. 
He has been able to do as he liked with other women, but 
this one keeps him at bay. I call it a fine revenge." 


304 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


She takes his money, I’ve heard,” said Millington. 

She does, and laughs openly in his face all the time. 
It’s my opinion she would like to see his horse beaten 
to-morrow. There’s nothing that woman wouldn’t do to 
humiliate and madden him. Millington, I’ve a fancy to go 
to 7, Wellington street, just to reconnoitre. Will you come 
with me ? ” 

With pleasure. George is out courting, and will not 
be home till late, so I shall not be missed.” 

Ah,” said Mr. Barlow, that’s a long engagement be- 
tween him and pretty Rachel Diprose. We haven’t been 
much together lately, you and I, Millington, and we have 
plenty of things to talk about. They’re pretty constant 
to each other, those two, but is it likely ever to come to 
anything ? ” 

'' I hope so,” replied Mr. Millington, and so do they, 
of course. Though, for obstinacy, and sticking to her 
word, there’s not a girl within a hundred miles of us to 
equal Rachel. Says George to her, ‘ Don’t let us wait any 
longer, Rachel. I’m in a position to maintain a home, so 
let us go to church, and get it over.’ ‘ No, George,’ says 
the steadfast young woman, ‘ I’ve made a vow never to get 
married till my dear mistress is settled, and I mean to stick 
to it. You’re a foolish fellow to keep yourself tied to a 
girl like me. Look out for another wife, George, and let 
us shake hands and say good-bye to each other.’ Of 
course George won’t listen to anything of the sort; he 
makes himself as cheerful as he can be under the circum- 
stances, and says that nothing but death shall part them. 
Miss Haldane does her best to persuade Rachel to do as 
George wishes, but Rachel won’t give way. And so it goes 
on. I don’t like to see George and Rachel wasting the 
best part of their lives, but it can’t be helped, it seems. 
There’s no understanding women, Barlow.” 

“ It’s difficult, I grant,” said Mr. Barlow, contempla- 
tively ; they have ways of their own, but they’re not 
always wrong. How is Miss Haldane getting along ? ” 

She and Rachel make just enough to live upon. I 
suspect she would be in sore straits if Rachel left her,” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


305 


That’s what makes one admire Rachel. It’s hard 
lines for George, but if the marriage ever comes off, she’ll 
make him a rare good wife. How is Miss Haldane’s sweet- 
hearting getting along ? ” 

About the same as Rachel’s. Young Mr. Parton, you 
know, went to Australia to make his fortune, and came 
back poorer than he went. He is going to make a great 
name one day, they say, but at present he and his father 
just manage to rub along. But when things are brighter 
with them, which I’ve an idea will be the case before long. 
Miss Haldane’s promise to her father that she will not 
marry without his consent, is likely to stop the way. 
Everything,” said Mr. Millington, passing his hand across 
his forehead with an air of vexation, “ seems to be in a 
tangle. I give up thinking of them sometimes.” 

'' Talk of the devil ! ” cried Mr. Barlow, looking after a 
man who was crossing the road. 

'' WhaPs the matter ? ” inquired Mr. Millington. 

“ This is a night of coincidences,” replied Mr. Barlow, 
“ and T believe in coincidences. Do you see that gen- 
tleman there ? ” 

That one shambling along on the other side ? What 
of him ? ” 

It is Mr. Haldane himself. He has come back. What 
little game will he be up to now ? ” 

Mr. Millington ran across, and passing the gentleman 
spoken of without drawing attention upon himself, returned 
to Mr. Barlow. 

It’s Mr. Haldane, sure enough. You know more about 
him than I do. Let me into the secret, Barlow.” 

There isn’t much of a secret about it,” said Mr. Bar- 
low. '' When the Chudleigh estate fell into the hands of Mr. 
iRedwood, our fine gentleman there made himself scarce. 
Went abroad and kept there. Now he’s back again.’" 

'' He may have been in London some time, for all you 
know.” 

'' I think not. Although that commission I was engaged 
on for Mrs. Kennedy fell through, I have kept myself 
^Oited up as well as I could with everyone concerned in it. 

1 


306 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


You remember I thought it the most interesting case I 
ever had to do with.’' 

“ You never told me why it fell through, Barlow.” 

It s soon told. At the time Mrs. Kennedy put the 
case into my hands she had money. What did the foolish 
lady do but allow herself to be persuaded to invest the 
whole of her little fortune in some South American mines. 
Crash went the concern, and swallowed up every shilling 
she had. She came to me with tears in her eyes, and said 
she could not prosecute the matter any further. She was 
in my debt over £50, and she owes the money still. There 
being no funds, I could not go on, of course, and there was 
an end of the affair so far as I was concerned. Of all the 
men and women we got to know through your commission 
for Mr. Haldane and mine for Mrs. Kennedy only two have 
managed to keep themselves afloat — Mr. Redwood and 
Honoria. It was a terrible come down for the Hal- 
danes, but I’ve an odd impression that we haven’t seen the 
end of it. Here we are in Wellington street. There’s Hon- 
oria’s carriage waiting at the door of No. 7. That’s what 
I call a coincidence. In that very house lives Mrs. Kennedy 
and her adopted daughter, Adeline Ducroz. You can’t 
have forgotten those remarkable letters of hers I gave you 
to read ? ” 

“ It isn’t likely I could forget them. How do these two 
ladies live ? ” 

Mrs. Kennedy takes in needlework, and they starve 
on it.” 

What does the other one do ? ” 

Drink.” 

You know what a dipsomaniac is, Millington ?” 

Yes.” 

That is whafc Adeline Ducroz is — that is what she was 
when Mr. Haldane under the assumed name of Julius 
Clifford, deserted her in Paris — that is what she was when 
she was wandering through the Continent. She is now 
irreclaimable. All Mrs. Kennedy’s efforts to cure her of the 
awful habit — which is more common than you suppose, 
Millington — have ended in failure, But the good lady 


^ TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


307 


has not abandoned her; she has undertaken a terrible 
responsibility, and does not shrink from it. She works for 
the lost creature day and niffht, nurses her, watches over 
her as well as she is able to, and still hopes against hope. It 
is a dreadful burden.” 

“ I can imagine nothing more .dreadful,” said Mr. 
Millington, “ Barlow, if I don^t mistake, you once had an 
idea that Miss Haldane was Adeline Ducroz s daughter.” 

" I did.” 

Are you of the same opinion still ? ” 

Upon my word,” said Mr. Barlow, looking up at the 
windows of No. 7, ‘‘ I hardly know what to think. I have 
seen Adeline Ducroz on several occasions, and I can see no 
likeness between them. But Adeline Ducroz as a woman 
and a confirmed drunkard, and Adeline Ducroz as a young 
girl in whom the awful vice was absent, must be two 
different beings. To see her as she is can give one no idea 
of what she was, and it seems a crime to associate so sweet 
a lady as Miss Haldane with a creature so lost and degraded. 
Here is Mrs. Kennedy coming out of the house now. 

A gray-haired woman, her face lined with care, issued 
from the door of No. 7. She carried a bundle, and after an 
anxious upward glance was walking away when Mr. Barlow 
stepped forward and accosted her. Not many words passed 
between them, but Mr. Millington saw Mr. Barlow slip 
something into her hand. 

“ She has just finished a dress for a private customer,” 
said Mr. Barlow, rejoining his friend, ‘"which must be 
delivered to-night. She is in great anxiety because she 
fears she may be kept out late. She says she left her 
daughter asleep, but she is not easy in her mind about her. 
It is supposed in the neighborhood that they are really 
mother and daughter. Another proof of her wonderful 
kindness to the lost woman.” 

** If she is in a drunken sleep,” said Mr. Millington, “ it 
is likely she will not soon awake.” 

“ If she is,” said Mr. Barlow. “ That's where the doubt 
comes in. You have no notion of the cunning of these 
dipsomaniacs. One is never safe with them. The odds are 


808 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


that she is only pretending to be asleep so as to get her 
protector out of the way.’’ 

“ What would be the good of that ? She has no money 
to obtain liquor.” 

‘‘ Oh, she’ll beg, borrow, or steal it, or perhaps take ! 
something from the room to sell for gin. Let us be jogging, 
Millington. We shall do no good remaining here. It is 
kind of Honoria to stop with that poor little fellow who 
met with the accident. By-and-by, old fellow, when the 
account is reckoned up, there’s many a good deed will be set 
down to the credit of the woman that scoundrel Redwood 
brought to shame. Come along.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

It was very near midnight before Honoria prepared toj 
take her departure. She had done much in the meantime' 
to assuage the mother’s anxiety, and to make things easy 
for her and the injured lad. Impressing into her service a 
slatternly girl who lived in the house with her parents, 
Honoria had sent her out half-a-dozen times to purchase 
what was required. Every time the girl went out Honoria' 
discovered something else that was wanting, and every ^ 
time she came back she was sent out again to obtain it.'j 
The pleasure Honoria conferred by her kindness was noth-' 
ing compared to the pleasure she derived from administer- 
ing it. She moved about the room as if she had lived in 
it all her life, and as if she were quite accustomed to that 
kind of existence. The mother, who rejoiced in no less 
common name than Smith, for the most part looked on in 
wonder at Honoria’s proceedings. The lad opening his 
eyes once or twice, also gazed in wonder at the beautifully^ 
dressed lady until fatigue caused him to close them again ; 
finally he fell into a sound slumber, from which he was nok 
likely to wake till morning. Betweenwhiles Honoria haq 
extracted from Mrs. Smith the whole of her history. She; 
was a widow with one child, and being very poor hadi 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


309 


consented to let the acrobats have him for a term of years 
upon an ascending scale of wages, commencing at four 
shillings a week. The lad was nearly at the end of his 
first year, and upon his four shillings a week, which she 
received regularly, and as much charing as she could obtain, 
his mother managed to live. 

'' It is a hard life,’’ said Honoria pityingly. 

“ It is hard,” said Mrs. Smith, “ but it might be worse. 
My Jack’s spoilt for his trade now, poor boy, by what the 
doctor said. He was so fond of it, too. He comnienced 
tumbling about when he was two years old, and before he 
was three I was always catching him standing on his head. 
He got regularly talked about, and people called him the 
little clown. Those men got to hear of him, and when 
they came and offered to take and teach him the business I 
thought it was as good a thing as could happen to him. '' It’s 
hard to know what to do with one’s children, but I’m glad 
he’s a boy instead of a girl.” 

'' Yes,” said Honoria, looking steadily at the mother, 
you are right to be glad of that.” 

She listened to a noise without, the voice of some creat- 
ure shrieking out a song, the words of which were not 
distinguishable. 

You’d get used to that noise,” remarked Mrs. Smith, 
if you lived in the house. Don’t let it trouble you. It’s 
only Mrs. Kennedy’s daughter.” 

'' It does not trouble me,” said Honoria, “ but there is 
something very pitiful in the sound. Mrs. Kennedy’s 
daughter ! Surely not a young girl ? ” 

Oh, no, a woman nearly as old as I am, but I’m thank- 
ful that I’m not like her.” 

Is she sober ? ” 

“ I don’t know. She never is, if she can help it. When 
she’s not sober, she’s mad.” 

Always ? ” 

'' Nearly always. I’ve seen her two or three times as 
near in her right senses as she’s ever likely to be, and 
I’ve fairly started at the change in her.” 

In what respect ? ” 


310 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


'' Well, if you’ll believe me, she was more of a lady at 
those times than any of us. Quiet too, and well-spoken. 
There was once when Mrs. Kennedy managed to keep her 
right for nearly a week, and if you’d seen her then you’d 
have pitied and wondered at her. But there 1 A kind 
lady like you would be ready to pity anyone in mis- 
fortune.” 

Never mind that. What I have done has been to please 
myself. I am glad I was at the theatre to-night when your 
boy met with his accident.” 

'' You mean the music-hall,” Mrs. Smith said, and then 
hesitated. When her son was carried up to the room 
adjoining Honoria’s private box she had not caught the 
name of the lady who had proved so kind to her, her 
anxiety rendering her deaf to everything but her boy’s 
danger. The whole of the time Honoria had been with her in 
the one room she occupied in this humble house she had not 
addressed her as Miss ” or “ Madam,” being doubtful which 
would be right. It was this doubt that caused her to 
hesitate now, and Honoria, understanding that she had not 
completed the sentence, looked at her with a smile. 

'' May I take the liberty of asking,” said Mrs. Smith, 
whether you are a married lady ? ” 

I am not married,” replied Honoria, very readily. 

That’s what’s been bothering me, whether I ought to 
call you Miss or not. You can’t be more glad. Miss, that 
you were at the music-hall to-night than we’ve got occasion 
to be. My boy couldn’t help meeting with the accident, I 
suppose. What is to be, will be; and as it was to happen 
your being there was a windfall to us — though I can’t 
quite make out. Miss, why you ought to be glad.” 

'' Can you understand,” asked Honoria, that it is a 
real pleasure when one woman can help another ?” 

'' You mean. Miss, when a rich lady can help a poor 
woman ?” 

“ If you like to put it that way, yes.” 

‘‘ That’s one way of looking at it certainly, but it only 
proves more and more what a kind heart you’ve got. 
There’s that Mrs. Kennedy’s daughter going it again. Just 
listen to her.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


311 


Honoria stood at the door a moment or two, listening 
to the wild singing, some words of which came now to 
her ear. 

‘‘ Why,” she cried, she’s singing a French song !” 

'' She can do that. Miss, and talk other foreign langu- 
ages ; and so can her mother. It’s a sad pity they’ve come 
down so low. It isn’t half as bad when you’re born to it ; 
then you don’t expect much, and you get accustomed to 
things, but to be born well off and accustomed to having 
everything you want, and then to come down to poverty’s 
door — I can understand how hard it must be, though it 
isn’t my own case. I don’t know. Miss, whether you see it 
as I do.’' 

“ Why shouldn’t I be able to see it as you do ?” asked 
Honoria. 

“ Well, Miss,” replied Mrs. Smith, her admiring eyes 
taking in every detail of Honoria’s dress and beauty, '' it’s 
easy to see you’ve never known want.” 

"'Have I not?” said Honoria, with a singular smile. 
" Are you something of a fortune-teller, then ? ” 

" I can tell your fortune by the cards,” said Mrs. Smith. 

" Which is sure to come true,” observed Honoria. 

The woman laughed. " Sometimes it does, sometimes 
it doesn’t. That’s as it happens.” 

" Never mind the future,” said Honoria. " Tell me 
about the past — my past. I have never known want ? ” 

" I should say that’s certain. Miss.” 

" A lady born ? ” 

" Yes, Miss.” 

" Just think. Do ladies go to such places as we met in 
to-night ? ” 

" Why not, Miss ? I’m a respectable woman, poor as I 
am, and I go into the pit — with an order. Miss ; I couldn’t 
afford to pay. You’re a lady and you go into the swell 
parts. Fine feathers make fine birds, they say, and most 
people believe it. I don’t. If you don’t know how to 
wear the feathers, you’re soon found out. If I dressed 
myself as a lady, having the chance that’ll never come to 
me. why, they’d spot me at once. " You a lady ! ’ they’d 


312 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


cry. Now there’s Mrs. Kennedy and her daughter. Here 
they are, living upon next to nothing ; they’ve got the 
worst room in the house, an attic at the top, and I don’t 
suppose after paying the rent, that they’ve more than six 
or seven shillings a week to live upon. They've been in 
want of a crust they have. But for all that, and though 
they’ve got no more clothes than they stand upright in — 
and they’ve nothing to brag of — you couldn’t mistake that 
they were born ladies, and brought up so. If they were to 
come into money to-morrow, and the daughter would 
only keep from drink, they would know how to wear their 
fine feathers — -just as you do. Miss.” 

'' Tell me something more about these poor ladies,” said 
Honoria, earnestly. Mrs. Kennedy works for a living.” 

‘‘ As hard as the hardest of us. Miss ; stops up half the 
night sewing, when she can get it to do.” 

Sewing ! Has she a sewing machine ? ” 

A sewing machine. Miss ? Why, where should she get 
one from without a farthing in her pocket ? ” 

'' I forgot. And she stops up working half the night, 
stitching, stitching — there’s a song about that I dare say 
you haven’t heard of. And though she works so hard the 
wolf is always at their door.” 

'' That’s it Miss. They’re happy ones who’ve never seen 
the beast.” 

Like me,” said Honoria, smiling again. 

Yes, Miss, like you.” 

“ There are a good many charitable societies in London 
that help deserving cases like hers. Have they done 
nothing ? ” 

I’ll tell you something about that. Miss. As to going 
to ask help herself from a charity, it’s my belief Mrs. Ken- 
nedy would die first. There’s the workhouse, where a 
body can sometimes get half a loaf of bread if they like to 
put up with the shame of it ; and perhaps some of them 
that’s so driven that they don’t know which way to turn 
would go and beg for that loaf if it wasn’t made so hard 
for them — I mean the getting of it. Miss. There’s Govern- 
ment men there giving out the bread that’s a disgrace to 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


318 


the clothes they wear ; and it’s that, as well as the shame 
of begging at a workhouse door, that keeps some deserving 
people away. For most of us. Miss, can’t help being as we 
are ; it isn’t our fault ; we’d alter it if we could, but we 
can’t, so we’ve got to bear it as well as we’re able to. As 
for going inside the house, I’d die a thousand deaths rather, 
and so would a many others. Then you speak about 
societies. Last winter it was. Miss, that things got so bad 
with Mrs. Kennedy that they couldn’t get worse, and some 
of us clubbed together to help her on over the bitter times. 
She couldn’t well refuse, because she was laying almost at 
death’s door, but she’s paid us all back since. Miss, every 
farthing of it. While she was getting better, just as she 
was able to move about a bit, a gentleman that belongs to 
one of these societies comes into the street, and what does 
somebody do but speak to him about Mrs. Kennedy ? ' If 

you mean half what you say,’ this gentleman’s told, " you’ll 
go and see Mrs. Kennedy, and you’ll do something for her.’ 
He goes to see her, and he inquires into her case, and if he 
isn’t satisfied that it’s a deserving case nothing in the 
world would ever satisfy him. The upshot of it is, that he 
makes a proposition to Mrs. Kennedy — not at once, mind 
you, Miss; after a good many days had gone by, and she 
might have starved the while ; that’s the way, I’m told, 
they do their business and spend half their money — well, 
he makes a proposition to her. She’s to part with her 
daughter, who’s to be put into some institution where Mrs. 
Kennedy could see her once a month for half an hour — no 
longer. Miss — ‘and then,’ said the gentleman, ‘we’ll see 
what we can do for you.’ That was the end of it. I don’t 
say if it had been put another way that anything would 
have come of it, but there’s nothing on earth but death can 
ever make Mrs. Kennedy part with her daughter. And so 
they go on. Miss, and so they’ll go on till the end comes. 
Perhaps you know something of the society I’ve spoken of ; 
it’s an organizing society— leastways, that’s what they call 
themselves, I think. To organize charity ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Smith, with an incredulous and scornful laugh. 
“That’s as much as to say that we’re not to have any feel- 


314 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


ings, and mustn’t give a hungry child a slice of bread and 
butter, or a starving woman a basin of soup, before it’s 
inquired into. I never heard of anything like it in my 
life. Did you. Miss ? ” 

It sounds strange, certainly. I have heard of the 
society, and I don’t approve of it. I must be going now ; 
you must try and get some rest.” She slipped a half 
sovereign into the woman’s hand. Is there anything more 
I can do for you ? ” 

“ You’ve done all you could. Miss,” said Mrs. Smith, 
with tears in her eyes, “ and I don’t know how to thank 
you.” 

'' Don’t try. My visit has done me more good than it 
has you.” 

How can you say that. Miss ? ” 

I do say it, and mean it.” 

“ It’s a pity there’s not more like you. Miss.” 

A smothered sound, half sob, half laugh, escaped from 
Honoria, but she was quite calm and composed almost in 
the same breath. 

'' You may be wrong there,” she said, taking up her 
gloves. 

“ No, Miss ; I’m right ; but it’s like you to make light 
of what you’ve done. Shall we see you again ? ” 

Not to-morrow ; I shall be busy ; the day after.” 

You’re going to the Derby, Miss ? ” 

I heard you tell the doctor that Morning Glory ’d win. 
Everybody I’ve heard speak of it swears that nothing can 
beat that horse with the queer name.” 

Morning Glory is my fancy,” said Honoria, with a 
laugh. 

‘‘ We’ve put by twopence a week,” said Mrs. Smith, “my 
poor boy and me, to back something with a start for our 
money. We’ve got two shillings. I shall put it on your 
fancy. Miss, if you don’t mind.” 

“ Why should I mind ? But you can’t be running out 
in the morning, with your son lying ill here.” 

“ Lord, Miss, it’s only just going outside the door. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


315 


There’s a man we know that walks round on every big race 
day to take our bets. I can see him from the window 
here.” 

He takes your bets, and keeps your mone 3 \ Give me 
your two shillings ; 111 invest it for you so that you can’t 
lose.” 

With a bright look Mrs. Smith took the two shillings 
from a drawer and handed them to Honoria, who put them 
in her purse. 

“ Good night,” she said. 

Good night. Miss, and God bless you.” 

Honoria, closing the door behind her, did not go down- 
stairs to her carriage, but upstairs to the attic, in which 
Mrs. Kennedy’s daughter was still singing fitfully, but more 
softly now. The stairs and passages were dark, and she 
had to feel her way by the balustrade. A human form, 
lying across the stairs, impeded her progress, and started 
up as it was touched by her foot. 

Who’s that ? ” a voice inquired. It was the slatternly 
girl she had employed to do her errands who spoke. 

“ I am going up to Mrs. Kennedy’s room,” replied 
Honoria. 

“ Oh, it’s you, lady. I’ll show it yer.” 

“ What are you lying on the stairs for ? ” asked 
Honoria. 

To prevent ’er going out if I can,” said the girl, with 
an upward jerk of her thumb, which Honoria could not see. 

Mrs. Kennedy gives me a ha’penny for it. She’s a good 
sort is Mrs. Kennedy. It ain’t safe for ’er to go out by 
’erself.” With another upward jerk of her thumb. 

Why isn’t it safe ? ” 

She ain’t to be trusted a minute by ’erself,” whispered 
the girl. '' Mrs. Kennedy’s afeerd she might do somebody 
a mischief.” 

“ Is she violent, then ? I understood she was harm- 
less.” 

“ She ain’t done nothink up to now,” said the girl, still 
in a whisper, but there’s no telling when she’s going to 
begin. And she’s that artful ! ” 


316 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


If Honoria could have seen the girl's face she would 
seen an expression upon it signifying that for artfulness 
the woman upstairs had not her equal. 

Show me her room." 

Take 'old of me, and mind 'ow yer step. There's 'oles 
in some of the stairs. The 'ouse is coming to pieces, it is." 

The room was as dark as the staircase, and when Hon- 
oria entered it, which she did alone, the slatternly girl 
keeping by the open door, she could see nothing of its 
occupant. 

'' Go downstairs, and ask Mrs. Smith to lend me a 
candle." 

Ain't you afeerd ? " 

No, go at once." 

The girl slid down by means of the creaking balustrade, 
and presently Mrs. Smith herself came up with a lighted 
candle. 

‘‘ You can't do her any good," said the woman, shaking 
her head. 

“ Oblige me, and leave me alone with her." 

“ I'll wait outside." 

Honoria taking the candle from her, closed the door. 

A woman, crouching by the miserable mattress on the 
floor, peeped cunningly through her fingers as Honoria 
approached her. She was much older than Honoria had 
supposed her to be; her clothes were of the poorest 
description, but bore evidence of neat mending and patch- 
ing ; her gray hair, also, though she had it pulled over her 
face, where it hung straggling down, must have been 
regularly combed and brushed. The room was clean and 
tidy ; it was a work, living, and bed room, all in one, and 
contained, for furniture, but two wooden chairs, a deal 
table, and the bed on the floor, but there were no traces of 
disorder apparent. In the dumb signs that met Honoria's 
eyes there was no degradation, but distinct evidences of 
poverty bravely borne. The degradation was in the woman’s 
face — a bloated face, with swollen cheeks and lips, and 
bleared eyes. The hands she held before it trembled and 
twitched ; they were not the hands of one accustomed to 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


317 


menial work ; they were small and shapely, and in the 
woman s whole appearance, miserable and degraded as it 
was, there seemed to Honoria to be a singular assumption 
that she had not been al vays so low and vile as at the 
present time. 

Are you ill ? ” asked Honoria, pityingly. 

The woman slowly removed her hands from her face, 
stroked Honoria’s dress. 

“ Let me whisper to you,’’ she said. 

Honoria was startled by the voice. It was so thick and 
guttural, and so difficult to understand, that it sounded 
scarcely human. 

‘‘ Speak out,” said Honoria, there is no one near.” 

‘‘ There is,” said the woman. “ A devil is hiding — there 
in that corner! — he will come out when you are gone. He 
must not hear. Let me whisper.” Honoria bent her head. 
“ Are you a lady ? ” 

I am a woman, as you see.” 

Have you got money ? ” 

Yes.” 

Give me a shilling. They starve me ; they don’t give 
me anything to eat. Give me a shilling.” 

I will get you some food.” 

I don’t want food — I want a shilling. Give me sixpence. 
Look at me ; I am shaking all over. I want medicine ; I 
can go out and buy it. Give me twopence.” 

Honoria did not know immediately what to do. She 
felt that the degraded creature wanted the money for drink, 
and yet she seemed impelled to give it to her. It was only 
by an effort that she restrained the unwholesome prompting. 

No,” she said, “ I will not give you money.” 

The woman was evidently accustomed to such refusals ; 
she threw herself full length on the floor, her face down- 
wards, and begged no more. 

Honoria lingered a few moments in the room ; she was 
sincerely desirous to relieve the poverty so plainly visible, 
but she could not do it through this lost creature. On the 
mantelshelf she saw a little stone bottle of ink, and a pen 
by its side ; there was also a worn blotting pad as she 


318 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


supposed. She took it down and opened it. Tliere was 
neither writing paper nor envelope there ; in their place 
was a photograph which, though somewhat faded, had 
seemingly been carefully preserved. It was the portrait 
of a young woman, dark, and full-blooded as she was her- 
self. The sweetness of spring was in the face and eyes, 
but it needed not that to render it beautiful. It was one 
of those rare faces which, under fortunate circumstances, 
would not lose its attractiveness with advancing age. 
Honoria gazed at it for many moments in silence. This 
silence alarmed Mrs. Smith, who was standing in the 
passage, waiting for Honoria. She knocked at the door, 
and receiving no answer, gently opened it and advanced 
into the room. Honoria was so absorbed in the picture 
that she did not turn her head ; she had not heard the 
opening of the door. 

What are you looking at. Miss ? ” asked Mrs. Smith. 
Honoria, aroused to consciousness, laid the portrait down. 

Oh, the picture,” said Mrs. Smith. “ You’d hardly believe 
it was hers."’ 

“ Hers ! ” echoed Honoria, contemplating the prostrate 
form. Is it possible she was ever like this ? ” 

It’s her picture, taken when she was a young woman, 
Mrs. Kennedy has shown it to me two or three times. And 

now I look at you ” But she paused suddenly, and 

snapped her lips together. Are you coming down. Miss. 
You can't do any good here ? ” 

You were saying,” said Honoria, ‘ and now I look at 
you,’ but you did not finish.” 

“ It’s nothing, Miss. I’ll light you down.” 

But I wish to hear what was in your mind. Oblige 
me, and complete the sentence. There can be no harm in 
it.” 

Of course there’s no harm in it,” said Mrs. Smith, 
with a curious hesitation, '' but it mightn’t be exactly 
pleasant.” 

Oblige me and say what you were about to say.” She 
took the portrait in her hand again, and held it out to Mrs. 
Smith. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


'' I was going to say, if you’ll forgive me for it, that it s 
not unlike you. It’s a foolish fancy, and I don’t know 
how it ever came in my head.” 

'' I don’t think it’s fancy ; it struck me as I was look- 
ing at it. Is it like Mrs. Kennedy, too ? ” 
i '' Not a bit. Mrs. Kennedy is quite a different sort of 

woman. There’s a good many that don’t believe 

Again she broke off in the middle of a sentence. '' We’d 
I best talk downstairs,” she said, in a low tone. '' You 
i wouldn’t think she was listening, but it’s my belief she 
I hears every word we say.” 

• Yes,” said Honoria, '' we will talk downstairs.” 

She cast a last compaasionate glance at the prostrate 
. woman, and left the room with Mrs. Smith. 

'' They do say,” she prompted 

That there’s no relationship at all between Mrs. Ken- 
nedy and the woman she calls her daughter.” 

'' But why should she work for her as she does ? Why 
does she make herself a slave for her ? ” . 

There’s the mystery. We don’t worry ourselves about 
it. We’ve got enough troubles of our own.” 

'' Yes, you must have. Can you give me a sheet of 
paper and an envelope ? ” 

Yes, Miss.” 

This is what Honoria wrote : 

One who sincerely sympathizes with Mrs. Kennedy, 
and is desirous to further assist her, requests her accep- 
tance of the enclosed. In the course of a few days the 
writer will place herself in communication with Mrs. Ken- 
I nedy.” 

1 The enclosed ” was a bank note for five pounds. 
Honoria fastened the envelope, and addressing it to Mrs. 
Kennedy, requested Mrs. Smith to give it to her upon her 
return home that night. It happened, as Honoria stood 
in the passage, about to take her departure, that the street 
door was opened with a latchkey, and a woman was heard 
ascending the stairs. 

'' That’s Mrs. Kennedy’s step,” said Mrs. Smith, 
i “ I do not wish her to know,” said Honoria, quickly, 

\ that it is I who left the note for her.” 


320 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Very well, Miss.” 

The light fell upon Honoria s face as Mrs. Kennedy 
came up to her, and a startled look flashed into the elder 
woman's eyes. She stood on the top of the stairs gazing 
at Honoria till she passed out of the house. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Louis Redwood and Major Causton went to a great many 
places that night, after Honoria had given them the cold 
shoulder, as the gallant Major expressed it, and did not stop 
long in any. There was a certain theatre where Redwood, 
as a particular friend of the manager and lessee, was wel- 
come behi.id the scenes, as at the Royal Palace of Pleasure, 
whenever he cared to show his face there, and as a matter 
of course any friend he took with him was also welcome. 
Redwood had seen a great deal of life, and was still seeing 
it, but it was only with its darker shadows that he was 
familiar. The theatre to which he took Major Causton 
owed a great deal to him, literally owed a great deal to him, 
for it was mainly by his cheques that it was kept going. 
Nowadays many young gentlemen of fashion and fortune 
think it the proper thing to do to back a young actor who 
is ambitious to blossom into a star, and in more cases than 
one the result has been satisfactory. There are other 
theatres, kept open by a layman’s money, in which the end 
to be obtained is not so laudable, the aspirant therein being 
an empty-headed female who imagines that a very liberal 
display of her person will atone for her lack of brains. It 
was in a theatre of this kind that Redwood and the Major 
idled away some twenty minutes. To do Louis Redwood 
justice, he had no particular feeling for the emptyheaded 
female who ruled over it ; he spent some of his money in a 
theatre of this kind because it was accounted the proper 
thing to do, as above stated, and because anything of a 
higher aim, with an intellectual end in view, would not 
have suited his tastes. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


321 


“ Why, here’s Louis ! ” exclaimed the female he was 
backing, when he and the Major made their appearance. 

How are you, old chappie ? ” 

Redwood, surveying her with the air of a master who is 
not too well pleased with his bargain, gave her an indolent 
nod, and drawled out, 

My friend, Major Causton.” 

Glad to see you. Major,” said the female, who was 
nothing if she was not vulgarly familiar with every man 
who enjoyed her polite society. She was what is termed 
a fine woman — that is, there was plenty of her. She was 
arrayed as Ganymede, and she made it a boast on certain 
gala nights that it was not stage wine she handed round, 
but real sparkling champagne. Truth to tell, she had about 
as much regard for Redwood as he had for her; she knew 
her reign was coming to an end, but it had served her pur- 
pose, for she had ''hooked ” a brainless swell, who had com- 
menced to waste his fortune upon her, and who would go 
on recklessly doing so until he came face to face with ruin. 
This favored one was behind the scenes when Redwood 
came in, and looked very black at what he deemed an 
intrusion. Redwood took no notice of him, however, and 
at the end of twenty minutes left the field. 

" So far as I am concerned,” he remarked to Major 
Causton, as they walked away, "the theatre will close next 
week. I am about sick of tlie aftair.” 

" Wonder you ever had anything to do with it,” said 
the Major. 

" I made a promise,” said Redwood, quietly, " and I 
stuck to it. I generally do, whatever the cost.” 

" When you make up your mind to a thing, dear boy, 
jT’ou generally do stick to it.” 

" It s my way ; I never give in.” 

They were both thinking of Honoria when they made 
these remarks, and the Major was debating who would 
win. It was a battle between them, he knew, though he 
did not quite understand the rights of it. Had he been 
pinned to a declaration he would have been inclined to 
back Honoria, for whose intellect as well as for whose 
beauty, he had an intense admiration. 


322 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


From the theatre they proceeded to two clubs, of 
which both were members. In one a Derby sweep was 
being drawn, the first prize in which was a thousand 
pounds. As they entered the room the name of Mr. Louis 
Redwood’' was called out, and then the horse was drawn — 
Abracadabra. 

By the Lord,” exclaimed Major Causton, “ you’re in 
luck, dear boy.” 

A murmur ran round when it was seen that the owner 
was present, and envious congratulations were poured upon 
him. He took it all very coolly ; the lucky draw did not 
stir him in the least. 

“ I should have been equally pleased,” he said, “ if I 
had drawn a blank. Why did not one of you fellows get 
my horse.” 

“ Here is my name called out,” cried the Major excitedly. 

A blank, of course.” 

But, no ; he drew Morning Glory. 

Three cheers,” he said, rubbing his hands. 

Will you change, Major ? ” asked Redwood. 

“ Major Causton was about to say, “ Done,” but sud- 
denly pulled himself up. '' No, dear boy,” he replied. 
“ Everybody will know I’ve drawn Morning Glory, and it 
will be almost like throwing Honoria over not to stand by 
the horse.” 

‘‘ As you please ; you will repent it.” 

I hope so, for your sake,” said the Major, rather rue- 
fully. Redwood’s tone was so confident. I shall be satis- 
fied if I’m placed.” 

Upon leaving the second club they visited Redwood 
expressed his intention of going home, saying he had had 
too many late nights the last week or two, and wanted to 
be fresh for the morning. 

'' I have to drive Honoria down, you know,” he said. 

''You might do the amiable, dear boy, and invite me; 
it will be better than going down by rail.” 

" O, you can come ; there will be room for you on the 
drag.” 

" Thanks,” said the delighted Major, always ready to 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 823 

enjoy himself at another man^s expense. By this time to- 
morrow night we shall know' where we are.'’ 

They parted at the door of Redw^ood’s chambers, where 
our old friend Simpson, w^ho had taken service with him 
after Mr. Haldane had gone to the wall, was arranging cer- 
tain matters for the drive to Epson). Simpson had changed 
very little, except that he w^as slyer and sleeker than ever; 
his foxlike eyes looked up as his master entered the room. 

Give me some champagne and Apollinaris, Simpson." 

“Yes, sir." 

Redwood did not usually treat his champagne so, but 
he wanted a long drink, and it was the most harmless he 
could take. Simpson waited till he had emptied the glass, 
and then said, 

“ There's been somebodv here to see vou, sir." 

“ A lady ? " 

“ No, sir, a gentleman," said Simpson, with a sly smile. 

“ Let him go to the devil," said Redw^ood. 

“ Yes, sir," said Simpson, and said no more. He was by 
this time well acquainted with his master's moods^ and 
never opposed them. 

Louis Redwood lit a cigar, and paced the room. 

“ Everything will be right in the morning ? " he said, 
presently. 

“ Everything, sir." 

“ Take care that it is, or look out for yourself." 

“ Yes, sir." 

Redw^ood was in a brutal humor, but his valet w^as not 
to be ruffled. Simpson was quite comfortable ; he had 
a substantia] sum in the bank. The service he had taken 
with Louis Redwood had proved a lucrative one ; the wages 
were good, the perquisites better, the pilferings best. He 
would not have wept if he were suddenly discharged, 
though he would have preferred to hold on a little longer. 
He was still single, but he had a quarry in view, like his 
master. Strange to say, this quarry was pretty Rachel 
Diprose, of whom he had lost sight. Her treatment of him 
had the same effect upon him as Honoria's treatment had 
upon Redwood : it whetted his appetite. The more she 


824 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


flouted him the stronger grew his inclination for her, and 
as her marriage with George Millington had not yet come 
off, he never quite lost hope. He said to himself, as his 
master did, I’ll have her yet ; and when I get her I’ll tame 
her, and make her pay for it all.” He had, of course, 
backed Abracadabra for the Derby ; he had the firmest 
faith in his master’s horse, and thought, with numbers of 
others, that it could not lose the race. He stood to win five 
hundred pounds, and looked upon the money as already in 
his pocket. 

‘‘ What did you say about a gentleman calling ? ” asked 
Redwood, when he had smoked his cigar through. 

He wanted to see you very particularly, sir.” 

Anyone I know ? ” 

'' Oh, yes, sir ; an old friend of yours.” He added, under 
his bated breath, "" and of mine.” 

“ An old friend,” said Redwood. Where’s his card ? ” 
He didn’t leave one, sir. He left his name.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

Mr. Haldane, sir.” 

Redwood stopped in his walk. “ He is in England, 
then. When did he come back ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir. I didn’t ask him. He said he 
wanted to see you very particularly, and asked me if you 
would be home to-night.” 

“ Yes, go on,” said Redwood, impatiently. '' Don’t chop 
it up into bits. Out with the lot.” 

I said, sir, you might and you mightn’t, and then he 
said he would call again, and take his chance of finding 
you. There’s the bell, sir. It might be him.” 

Redwood reflected a moment. If it is Mr. Haldane, 
show him in.” 

'' Yes, sir.” 

And look here, Simpson. When he’s here you can 
pack yourself off I sha’n’t want you again to-night. If I 
catch you peeping through keyholes and listening. I’ll break 
your neck.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Simpson, and going from the room, 
presently returned, ushering in Mr. Haldane. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


S25 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

''Make yourself scarce/' said Louis Redwood to Simpson 
who, with a look of curiosity at his old master and a sub- 
servient lowering of eyes at his new, glided from the room. 

" So you've come back to the old diggings, Haldane. 
How long have you been here ? " 

" I arrived this morning," replied Mr. Haldane. 

" Made your fortune, I hope." 

" Hardly that. Redwood, as you can see." 

There were indeed no evidences of prosperity upon 
him ; his insolent and haughty bearing had vanished, and 
its place was taken by a certain humbleness of manner, in 
which, however, a timid rebelliousness occasionally asserted 
itself. That he had been on the downward course was 
clear enough, but there was still lower depths to reach, of 
v/hich possibility he appeared to be nervously conscious. 

" You don't look very flourishing, I must say," observed 
Redwood. " Have a cigar ? There's a bottle of champagne 
just opened. Help yourself." 

Mr. Haldane did so with some show of eagerness, which 
was not lost upon Redwood. 

" Where have you been all this time?" inquired the 
younger man. 

" All over the world, I think," replied Mr. Haldane, 
'‘ and bad luck everywhere." 

" You had a good innings," said Louis Redwood, with a 
spice of maliciousness in his tone.. " Life is a game of ups 
and downs." 

" You've been luckier than I have been, at all events, 
and there's no chance of a reverse." 

" I'm not sure Haldane. So far as money goes, I don't 
dispute with you ; but my turn may come next." 

*' You don't say that ? " 

" I do say it. Do you remember Lamb & Freshwater ? " 

" Your lawyers ? Yes ; I have cause to remember 


326 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


them. According to what you said, they insisted upon 
selling me up.” 

‘‘ It was in their hands, you know,” said Redwood care- 
lessly, and had to follow their advice.” 

You were rich enough to give me another lease of life,” 
said Mr. Haldane, moodily chewing his cigar. You told 
me yourself that you were not in want of money.” 

'' I might have said something of the kind, but a bargain 
is a bargain. You didn’t fulfil your part of it, and I didn’t 
choose to be treated like a dog.” 

What could I do ? If my precious daughter would not 
marry you, how could I force her ? ” 

“ You managed badly from the first. You had the game 
in your hands, and you threw it away. But the devil take 
the past! We were both well rid of each other. I should 
have been tired of her in a month, and she would have made 
me sic]{ with her whines and tears. It made me mad to be 
thwarted, I own ; it always does. The harder a thing is to 
get, the more I want it. It’s my nature, and I can’t help 
it. You can’t accuse me of lack ot perseverance. I might 
even have continued with your obstinate daughter if 
another woman hadn’t happened to step in my way.” His 
face darkened. I’m about as successful with the second 
as with the first ; and I’ll know the reason why if I’m 
beaten in the end.” 

Who is living at the Hall ? ” asked Mr. Haldane. 

“The Rocks. It has been empty ever since the foreclosure, 
and Lamb & Freshwater are continually telling me it is 
eating its head off. You’ve cost me a tidy sum, one way 
and another. I’m not exactly the Bank of England, Hal- 
dane ; that is what my lawyer friends are continually din- 
ning into me lately. ' You’re making the pace too hot,’ 
they say, and when I tell them to mind their own business 
they shake their heads, and speak about pulling up and 
retrenchment. A pair of black ravens, that’s what they 
are ; but I shouldn’t wonder if I had to sell Chudleigh, after 
all. I should have sold it long ago if I could have got my 
price. I shall be lucky if I see half my money back, the 
legal croakers say : and what with capital lying idle, and 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


S27 


the loss of interest, IVe no doubt they’re right. Chudleigh’s 
gone to the dogs since we left it. No trade, no life, no 
money.” 

'' Redwood 
" Well?” 

“ We were friends once, good friends.” 

'' Who’s disputing it ? ” 

I’m down in the world. It is not my fault, but 
my misfortune, that luck’s gone against me. For old 
times’ sake don’t turn your back upon me. I’m cleaned out.” 

How much will set you up ? ” 

You’re a good fellow, Louis. Could you let me have 
a couple of hundred ? ” 

'' It wouldn’t ruin me. Look here, Haldane, I don’t set 
myself up as a model, and I’ve a notion that I’m not ex- 
actly a favorite with the people I mix with. Hang the 
lot of them ! What do I care for their opinion of me ? 
They’ll lick my boots so long as I fling my money about ; 
when I’m broke they won’t be able to speak bad enough 
of me. I know them, the curs ! But there’s one thing they 
will never be able to say, and that is that I cared for 
money. There’s my cheque book ; All in a cheque for two 
hundred, and I’ll sign it.” 

The light in Mr. Haldane’s eyes as he wrote the cheque 
was like the light in the eyes of a condemned man who has 
been suddenly reprieved. He handed the pen to Redwood, 
who scribbled his name and threw the cheque across to the 
once prosperous gentleman. 

'' If you think of anything I can do for this, Redwood,” 
he said, and paused. 

There was genuine emotion in his voice, and his hand 
shook as he passed it across his eyes. 

'' I’m not at all sure,” said Redwood, '' that I sha’n’t call 
upon you to do something for me. You’re going to Epsom 
to-morrow, of course.” 

“ I thought of going, and putting a flver on your horse. 
You’ve backed it yourself ? ” 

‘‘ To win a pretty large stake. What’s more, I’ve laid 
against another horse in the race that people fancy.” 


,^28 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

“ I heard ^ Morning Glory’ talked of.’^ 

That is the horse IVe laid against. You can go down 
on my drag if you like.” 

“ I should be glad to.” 

“ Come to breakfast here at nine. You’ll find yourself 
in a good company when we start. An old friend of yours 
is going with us.” 

“ Who is he ? ” 

It’s a lady, hailing originally from Chudleigh.” 

Not my — ” 

'' Daughter ? O, no ; this is another kind of lady. Do you 
remember Honoria ? ” 

“ Honoria ? ” 

'' A girl from your village, a protege of your daughter 
once on a time.” 

I remember something of the girl.” 

‘‘ Did you ever hear my name mixed up with hers ? ” 

Never.” 

“It was kept pretty close. When we first became 
acquainted she knew me under another name than my own. 
Not an uncommon trick, Haldane. You’ve been on the 
same lay yourself if I’m not mistaken. She has blossomed 
into a woman of fashion — but you must have heard all 
about it.” 

“ You forget. I have been absent from England for 
some time.” 

“ That accounts for your ignorance ; but you’ll hear 
enough to-morrow. I’ll ask you now to say good-night. I 
want to go to bed. Take another cigar before you go.” 

Then the old friends parted, and Mr. Haldane went 
away a happier man than he came. 

Louis Redwood did not go to bed immediately. He took 
out his betting book and penciled down how he stood on 
the eventful race that would be decided in a few hours. 
Rich as he was reputed to be the result of this race was of 
some importance to him. If Honoria’s tip came off. Abra- 
cadabra first, and Morning Glory second, it would make a 
difference of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds to him. 
He looked rather grave as he contemplated the figures, but 


TIES, HUMAN AND DltlNE. 32D 

his confidence wa^ not shaken. With a smile of anticipated 
triumph he retired to rest. 

Meanwhile Mr. Haldane was undergoing an experience. 
Upon issuing into the street he was accosted by Simpson, 
who, instead of listening at keyholes, had taken it into his 
mind to wait for his old master at the street door. 

‘‘Ibeg your pardon, Mr. Haldane,'' he said, “but I 
thought you might feel inclined for a bit of a chat about 
old times as well as new." 

To be addressed in such terms of familiarity by a man 
who had once been his servant was a bitter pill for Mr. 
Haldane to swallow, but he was accustomed to humiliation, 
and being in adversity a coward, he made no remonstrance. 

“ How has the world treated you, Simpson ? " 

“ I can't complain," replied Simpson. “ I wish it had 
treated you as ’well.” 

It was a feature in his offensive familiarity that he was 
careful not to address his old master as “sir." It was all 
very well in former days, but now the tables were turned, 
and it was principally to enjoy a practical illustration of 
the fact that he sought the interview. 

“ I am glad to hear you have prospered," said Mr. Hal- 
dane, humbly. 

“ Yes, I could set up as my own master now. Mr. Red- 
wood spoke to me sharp before you, but that's his way ; he 
hasn't much respect for anybody. I'm thinking of giving 
: him notice." 

“ So well off as all that, Simpson ? " said Mr. Haldane. 

“ I can lay my hand on three noughts, with a three 
before them," said Simpson, boastfully, “ and then I 
shouldn't be broke.” 

“ Three thousand pounds ! You're a lucky man. How 
did you make it ? ” 

“ Honestly, and by keeping my wits about me. Mr. 
Redwood's horses have been a little gold mine to me.” 

“ And to him.” 

“ Don't be too sure of that. Taking one year with 
another his stable don't cost him less than five hundred a 
week. He's headstrong, that's what he is. Thinks he's up 


330 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


to every move on the board, thinks he’s a match for 
jockeys and trainers, thinks he’s a match for women, while 
all the while, if the truth was known, he’s made to pay all 
round by the whole lot of them. He’s got a certainty to- 
morrow though. The Derby’s as good as won. Put a bit 
on Abracadabra, Mr. Haldane.” 

Thank you, Simpson.” 

'' It’s a pity about Chudleigh, isn’t it, Mr. Haldane ? ” 
Mr. Redwood tells me it is in a bad way.” 

“ Gone to the dogs. You’d hardly know the old place.” 

''They’d be glad to have me back again, Simpson.” 

" They’d be glad to have anybody back again. Have 
you seen your daughter ? ” 

" No.” 

" She lives in lodgings. No. 5, Pole street, Buckingham 
Palace road. It is a come-down, isn’t it, for all of you ? 
Well, I must wish you ta-ta ; I’ve got to be up early in the 
morning. I thought it wouldn’t look friendly to let you 
go without having a word with you.” 

He held out his hand, which Mr. Haldane pretended not 
to see. 

" Good night, Simpson,” he said and walked away. 

"Proud beast ! ” muttered Simpson, looking after him. 
" Wouldn’t shake hands with me, wouldn’t he ? But I 
showed him I was as good as he was. I’m glad he’s come 
down.” 

He went up to his room, and before he sought his bed 
devoted quite an hour to seeking inspiration for the Derby. 
He wrote on separate pieces of paper the names of all the 
horses that were being backed for the race, and shaking 
them up in a hat, drew one forth. Opening the paper he 
had drawn he read the name on it, " Morning Glory,” He 
smiled, folded the paper, and put it back in the hat, and 
then began shaking all the pieces out of it till only one re- 
mained. Opening it, he read again, " Morning Glory.” 
His second smile was not quite so confident as his first, but 
his faith in Abracadabra still remained firm. He took up 
a book from the table, and opened it hap-hazard. The first 
letter on the top of the page was M for Morning. He 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


331 


opened another page hap-hazard, and the first letter was G 
for Glory. He was manifestly disturbed by these silent 
prognostications, and he began to question whether Abrac- 
adabra was really the certainty for the Derby it was pro- 
nounced to be. ^very description of sporting paper was 
in the room ; he consulted them all. Without a single 
exception every sporting prophet gave Abracadabra as the 
winner. He became reassured ; it was not possible they 
could all be mistaken. As a two-year-old Abracadabra 
had run three races, and this year had been favorite for 
the Two Thousand, which he won, as he had his other 
races, with the greatest ease. In his preparation for the 
Derby there had not been a hitch, not a mishap, not one 
day s sickness, and it was a well-known fact that the whole 
stable to a man w^as on the favorite. Simpson smiled again 
with returned confidence, and examined his betting book. 
Yes, he stood to win five hundred pounds, or lose two 
hundred, on Abracadabra. During his service with Louis 
Redwood he had become quite a man of the town, and as 
he often declared, was up to every move on the board ; 
therefore he kept his bets duly recorded in a regular betting 
book, after the fashion of his superiors. He was not high 
enough in social station to be a member of TattersalFs or 
even of the Victoria; but he belonged to the Beaufort, and, 
as an ambitous man, looked forward to advancement. 
He was intimate with many of the racing fraternity, 
and knew that every one of them who had made 
money had risen from nothing. There were some 
who could hardly write their names in their cheque 
books, but they had amazing heads for figures, and as for 
their histories before they were in a position to drive blood 
horses and wear huge diamond rings and pins, the least 
said about them the better. The men upon whose down- 
fall they had fattened were members of old families with 
old estates which had passed from them, and of new fami- 
lies created by prosperous tradesmen and speculators whose 
lives had been devoted to the making of fortunes which 
their children were squandering. Simpson had made the 
acquaintance of numbers of these rooks and pigeons, and 


332 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

by dint of natural shrewdness and cunning had managed to 
pick up a good many stray crumbs which had swelled his 
banking account to its present respectable figure. But 
why should he stop at three thousand pounds ? Here in 
his master s horse was his opportunity ; it was the chance 
of a lifetime, and might never occur again. Why should 
he not turn bookmaker, and, as well as backing Abraca- 
dabra, lay against all the other horses in the race ? He had 
often thought of turning bookmaker on his own account, 
and this Derby, which was all over but the shouting,” 
would be a capital commencement. With fair luck his 
three thousand would be thirty before the racing season 
was over. Debating this question with doubts and fears, 
now being urged on by the one, now being pulled back by 
the other, he once more tossed all the pieces of paper 
together, and drew one out. The last time he did so was 
with his right hand and his eyes open. This time he closed 
his eyes and drew with his left hand. Again, ‘‘ Morning 
Glory !” What did it mean ? Was he to accept this itera- 
tion of Morning Glory as a veritable tip ? Was it Fate 
that was whispering to him not to turn bookmaker yet, 
but to desert Abracadabra, and take the odds to a large 
amount against Morning Glory ? He would try again — 
hanged if he wouldn’t. He smoothed one of the sporting 
papers in which all the probable starters for the Derby and 
their jockeys were set down. Then he took a pin, and with 
averted eyes stuck it in the list. With feverish eagerness 
he looked at the paper ; the pin was sticking in “ Morning 
Glory.” He stood for a long time glaring at it ; then he 
tumbled into bed very much disturbed in his mind. The 
chances of Abracadabra winning the great race were not 
half so good as they had been an hour ago. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

This Derby day was no different from all other Derby ^ 
days. There were the same tumult and hurly-burly ; thes 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


333 


same vast gathering of people of all degrees and conditions 
in Me, peers, statesmen, costermongers, layers and backers 
or horses, acrobats, tipsters, ladies, courtezans, gipsies and 
general hangers-on; the same contrasts of wealth and 
poverty, of hope and despair, of false hilarity and blank 
misery. Nature alone made genuine holiday; the sun 
shone brightly, and touched the surrounding hills and gav 
dresses^ of the ladies with shifting light. In its color 
ammation, variety, and significance, the scene at Epsom on 
a Derby day is incomparable. 

.X motley gathering not one attracted more 

attention than Honoria. The admiration was bestowed in 
sonie quarters openly,in others covertly and envyingly. Men 
pointed her out to each other, and ladies levelled their 
opera glasses at her. She was conscious of this general 
attention,^ but did not show it. The absence of small 
vanity in this beautiful creature was remarkable 
as remarkable as her possession of absolutely high 
qualities which, if scandal had not been busy with her 
name, would have entitled her to the homage which, openly 
by some, and grudgingly by others, was paid to her. She 
had driven down to Epsom with Louis Redwood’s party, and 
,she wore the mixed colors of Abracadabra and Morning 
Glory. Redwood would have protested against this divided 
allegiance if he dared, but the power she wielded over him 
was due as much to her courage and independence as to her 
beauty, and he knew it was wiser to be silent on certain 
matters upon which they differed. When she was not 
occupied in the paddock and with persons who were 
executing commissions for her, she held court in her box, 
.bestowing her smiles and favor upon those who thronged 
iround her, in a queenly fashion which strengthened her 
'lold upon them. Mr. Haldane had been introduced to her, 
and from the moment he saw her his eyes seldom” 
iwandered from her when they were near each other. 
Bhe had awakened within him a memory of the past. 
Ihfi queenly woman reminded him strangely of a 
Woman whom he had betrayed and deserted. Memories 
dn were awakened within Honoria upon Redwood’s men- 


334 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


tion of his name. Since the night upon which she had 
travelled from Chudleigh to London in the company of M r. 
Millington she had not seen or heard from Miss Haldane. 
She had, as we know, written a letter to her benefactor, to 
the lady who had saved her probably from death, certainly 
from despair, warning her of the character of the man who 
was wooing her ; that done, all was at an end between 
them. She had thought often of the lady who had played 
the part of an angel in her life of poverty and early shame, 
but when she became notorious she did not deem herself 
worthy to approach her in any way. On one side were 
virtue and purity, on the other, vice and degradation; she 
acknowledged the position, and cut herself aloof from one 
with whom she was not fit to associate. She gazed with 
some curiosity upon Mr. Haldane when he was introduced 
to her, and noted wonderingly his strange observance of 
her, in which there was a touch of subserviency. In Chud- 
leigh village he had never bestowed the least attention 
upon her, and she did not remember that he had ever 
addressed her. On the road a somewhat significant con- 
versation had taken place between them. 

'' You have been absent from England for some time,” 
she said. 

Yes,” he replied, “ for some time.” 

Since your return,” she continued, '' have you been 
down to Chudleigh ? ” 

“ No ; I only returned yesterday.’’ 

I am wondering whether it is much altered.” 

‘"Mr. Redwood tells me that a great change has come 
over the place.” 

'' That would be the case, of course, the Hall being 
empty. It is sad to lose so fine a place.” 

I have felt it deeply.” 

Mr. Haldane, have you no remembrance of me ? ” She 
noticed again the strange look in his eyes. 

You remind me of someone,” he said, with hesitancy. 

Of myself,” she said, smiling. 

No ; not of yourself. May I ask how old you are ? ” 

Some ladies would be angry with you. I am twenty- 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


335 


three. You ought to remember me, Mr. Haldane. I am 
almost a Chudleigh girl. Your daughter was very kind to 
me.” 

He winced at the reference to his daughter. 

'' I hope she is well.'’ 

I do not know ; I have not seen her lately.” 

Are you not friendly with her ? ” 

“ She disobeyed me.” 

Honoria was but imperfectly acquainted with the details 
of the relations between him and Louis Redwood, but her 
natural intelligence enabled her to arrive immediately at a 
correct conclusion. 

You wished her to marry,” she said. 

''It is a subject,” he said, " I would rather avoid.” 

" I am very self-willed, Mr. Haldane. You wished her 
to marry Mr. Redwood.” 

" It would have been the saving of me, and the making 
of her.” 

" What are you two talking about so softly and myster- 
iously ? ” cried Redwood, turning towards them. 

" Family matters,” said Honoria, dryly. " Do not inter- 
rupt us.” 

" Be careful of her, Haldane,” said Redwood. " She is 
a witch.” 

" I will make a confession to you,” she said, addressing 
herself again to Mr. Haldane, " though it is hardly that, for 
I never disguise from myself or from others, what I am. 
You know the world's opinion of me.” 

" Oh, the world ! ” he exclaimed, with an awkward 
movement of his hands expressing at once that the world’s 
opinion was not worth considering, and that he would 
rather not be pressed to give his own. 

" Yes, the world,” she said ; " but it is curious now, that 
it is only half right. What do you think yourself of the 
intimacy between me and Mr. Redwood ? You hesitate to 
answer, but your very hesitation is in itself the answer ; 
and yet you are about as right as the world is. Upon the 
merits of Mr. Redwood you, who have known him so long 
and so well, must have a very exact estimate. Answer me 


336 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


candidly. Would he have been a fit husband for your 
daughter ? ” 

“ I cannot discuss the question,” he said. He was be- 
ginning to be afraid of this outspoken creature. 

It is not a subject for discussion,” she said, '' because 
there can be but one opinion. Mr. Redwood would have 
ruined her happiness and her life, and it is well for her 
that she did not give him the chance. Why, if he offered 
to marry me I would laugh in his face.” 

“ Still plotting ? ” said Redwood. 

‘‘ Running you down. Redwood,” said Honoria. '' Tak- 
ing your character away. I am tearing you to pieces ; Mr. 
Haldane is defending you. Which side will you bet on ? ” 

“Yours; and Haldane, if he is wise, will agree in 
everything you say.” 

“ I am trying to bring him round. So,” to Mr. Haldane, 
“ you see you were wrong.” 

“ Right or wrong,” he said, moodily, “it is all over now. 
You have asked me a good many questions ; I should like 
to ask you one.” She nodded assent. “ You say you are 
almost a Chudleigh girl. Do your people live there ? ” 

“ My people ! What do you mean by that ? ” 

“ Your parents, your relations ? ” 

“ I have neither parents nor relations. Would you be- 
lieve, Mr. Haldane, that you are talking to a human being 
who has not a single tie in the whole wide world ? ” 

“ I believe whatever you say.” 

“ That is polite of you. It is a fact. To my knowledge 
there is not a man, woman, or child with whom I can claim 
kindred. I must bring something to your mind. In the 
village of Bittern, seven or eight miles from Chudleigh, 
there lived a woman with a little child. I am not telling 
you a fairy story, and I shall not treat you to a mystery. 
The child was myself. I can just remember the woman, of 
whom I know nothing more than that she was not my 
mother. How it came about that at the age of six or seven 
I found myself quite alone in the world I cannot say, but 
it is true. In the first place, I was deserted by my parents, 
whoever they may be ; in the second place, I was deserted 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


337 


by the woman who, for some reason or other, had looked 
after me for a time. Imagine, if you please, a young child 
thrown by human cruelty into such a position. There is a 
kind of brutality in it, is there not ? Some miserable days 
followed the second desertion, and how I managed to live 
is really inexplicable. Then came a day I remember well. 
I was sitting by a hedge on the roadside, shivering and 
hungry and in rags, when a carriage came along. In this 
carriage was a little girl about as old as myself, who 
was taking a ride with her nurse. This little girl 
insists upon getting out of the carriage, and she 
speaks to me, and actually gives me some sweets ; and 
insists, too, upon taking me back with her to 
I Chudleigh. There are some memories that never fade, and 
I this is one. My benefactor, Mr. Haldane, w^as your 
I daughter.'’ 

j I have a recollection of the circumstance," he said. He 
I would have preferred to be silent, the last of his wishes 
being to encourage a conversation into which his daughter 
- was introduced, but Honoria had paused and looked at him, 

[ expecting him to speak. 

. '' Her kindness,’’ continued Honoria, '' did not end there. 

[She took the charge of me upon herself, and paid a woman 
jin Chudleigh for my keep. She was the means, also, of my 
receiving a better education than was bestowed upon the 
regular village children, and so, Mr. Haldane, I grew into 
quite a superior young woman. How I grew into what I 
fcm is my affair, and proves my ingratitude to your daughter. 
[ owe her a debt I can never repay and with all my heart 
ind oul I thank God that you did not succeed in forcing 
ber nto a marriage with Mr. Redwood. It comes into my 
(■and, Mr. Haldane, that I am indebted to you.” 

In what way ? ” he asked. 

I Your daughter must have thrown away a good deal of 
money upon me, which, of course, you must have given 
her.” 

I She had her allowance,” said Mr. Haldane, '' and could 
io what she liked with it.” 

Am I riglit in supposing that you are in rather low 
^ter just now ? ” 


88 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


‘‘ I have had a run of bad luck,’' he said. There was no 
refinement or delicacy in his nature ; he was ready to accept 
anything from her. 

Consider me in your debt to the tune of — how much 
shall we say ? Five hundred pounds ? ” 

“ You are too good,” he said, with a beating heart. 

Not at all. Indirectly I am your debtor, and I can 
spare a good deal more than that. I will not give you the 
money now, because it might be noticed. On the course, 
when nobody is looking. I have brought a large sum with 
me, to do some ready money betting with. Then, so far as 
you are concerned, we are quits. There — we will talk no 
more about it. Only take my tip. Back Morning Glory.” 

" Really ? ” 

Really. I am in luck just now. Eveiything I touch 
turns to gold.” 

It seemed so. On the first race, the Chetwynd Plate, 
she netted nearly a thousand pounds, and Mr. Haldane and 
Major Causton, taking her tip, each won a fair stake. Red- 
wood lost as much as Honoria won. It needed only that 
Honoria should say that Prince of Tyre would win to cause 
him to back the two second favorites. Red Cherry and 
Saint. He would prove to her that she was no match for 
him in such matters ; he would show that he was her 
master, and that she was playing a game in which she was 
a novice. Therefore he made a plunge on his fancies, and 
and backed his two horses against her one at even money 
for a monkey. 

“ Blind luck ! ” he muttered, as Prince of Tyre came in 
first by two lengths. “ But she shall suffer for it on the 
Derby.” 

Honoria smiled calmly on him when the winning num- 
ber went up. 

You don’t believe in luck. Redwood,” she said. 

Luck be hanged ! ” he cried. “ Wait for the Derby.” 

The Derby was the next race, and the course and every- 
body on it, with the exception of Honoria, was in a state 
of the greatest excitement. The yelling and shrieking, the 
shouting of odds, the rushing to and fro, the white faces, 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


339 


the mad throbbing of hopes and fears, converted the lovely 
spot into a pandemonium. The party in whom we are 
most interested went into the paddock to see the horses 
saddled. They were all in the pink of condition, fit to run 
for a man’s life, and seemed to be aware that they were 
about to engage in the most important contest of the year. 
Before Abracadabra’s jockey, the celebrated Beane, was 
weighed in. Redwood drew him aside. No one intruded 
upon them, but curious eyes watched them and sought to 
glean information from signs. 

What do you think, Beane,” asked Redwood. 

'' What everybody thinks, sir,” replied the jockey. I 
don’t believe the horse can lose.” 

j He looked at his employer in expectancy ; Redwood 
'chewed his moustache. 

! ''You are on,” he said, " two thousand to nothing.” 
j Beane elevated his forefinger, and a satisfied expression 
I appeared on his face. 

' " It’s a certainty, sir ; you can back Abracadabra for all 

I you’re worth.” 

; There was another little confidential and anxious con- 
Jversation between Redwood and the trainer, the result of 
liwhich was perfectly satisfactory to the owner. He beck- 
■oned one of the commissioners in his employ, and in less 
|than five minutes it was known that he had thrown another 
heavy commission in the market, and had backed Abraca- 
dabra to win a further fifty thousand pounds. The effect 
this was to considerably shorten the odds. " I’ll take 
“ve to four,” shrieked the. bookmakers. " Fives, bar one.” 

fore you could turn round the betting on Abracadabra 
iras six to four on, and the odds against Morning Glory 
pad lengthened to six to one. Some of the leading book- 
Iwakers refused to take the odds on the favorite, and the 
bonsequence was that Abracadabra’s admirers in many in- 
ptances had to lay seven to four and two to one. Honoria 
taled Major Causton to her side. 

[ "Get the longest odds you can’” she said, "against 
Morning Glory for a thousand. Come back to me im- 
mediately.” 


340 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Redwood, hearing this, exclaimed, '' Are you mad ? 

Wait a moment. Redwood,’’ she replied, smiling at 
him, and she turned aside with Mr. Haldane. '' What do 
you want to say ? ” 

“ They tell me it’s throwing money away to back any- 
thing but the favorite.” 

Do as you please with your money,” said Honoria ; 
she had given him the five hundred pounds, and the money 
he had won on the Chetwynd Plate burned in his pocket. 
He had to bet with ready-money bookmakers ; it was 
known he had come down in the world. What difference 
can it make to me whether you win or lose ? ” 

'' If you are fool enough to back Morning Glory,” said 
Redwood, intercepting him as he left Honoria, you 
deserve to lose every penny you have got. She has been 
telling you to back the horse, hasn’t she ? Out with it ! ” 

“Yes, she told me to back it.” 

“ What the devil does she know about horses ? ” cried 
Redwood. “Look here, Haldane. Have women ever 
brought you any luck ? ” 

“ They have been my destruction,” muttered Mr. Hal- 
dane. 

“ Well, then. Follow Honoria, and find yourself in the 
gutter. Don’t come to me to help you out of it.” 

Mr. Haldane w^alked away in an agony of doubt ; he 
did not know what to do. 

“ Now Redwood,” said Honoria, “you want to know if 
I am mad. Upon my word, I half believe I am ; I’ve got 
Morning Glory on the brain. It’s on the cards that my 
fancy will beggar me.” 

“ With all my heart,” he said, “ I hope it will.” And 
thought, “ If I could bring that about she would be at my 
mercy. It is only because she is independent of me that 
she is torturing me so. If I could beggar her 1 If I could 
beggar her ! ” 

“You are thinking of something wicked,” she said, j 
tapping her foot with her sunshade. “ Am I looking well 
to-day ? ” 

‘You are a beautiful devil,” he replied, “and I would ( 
give all I’m worth to tame you.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


341 


I dare say you would,'’ she said, with a saucy smile. 
''We are having a rare fight, you and I. The question is, 
who will be the victor in the end ? " 

" You’ll be eating humble pie, my lady, before the day 
is over.” 

" That's to be seen. You ought to know by this time 
how obstinate a woman can be. I have a notion. Redwood, 
that I can read your thoughts. Shall I try ? ” 

" Yes.” 

"Well, you are thinking that it would better your 
chances if you could ruin me.” 

" You are a witch.” 

" I offer you the opportunity. I throw down my glove. 
If you are anything of a man you will pick it up. I dare 
you ! ” 

She flashed a look into his eyes that almost electrified 
him. 

" I pick up your glove,” he said. " What is the chal- 
lenge ? ” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Honoria looked around. Although there were numbers 
of people in the paddock they were all so engrossed in their 
own selfish affairs that they had no time to notice that she 
and Louis Redwood were engaged in an unusually animated 
conversation. A certain measure of privacy was therefore 
secured, but it did not content Honoria. She made a slight 
motion of her head, and Redwood followed her as a lamb 
follows its dam. She conducted him to a remote corner, 
where there was no chance of their being hustled or over- 
heard. 

" Redwood,” she said, "do you know I have a great deal 
of money ? ” 

" You ought to have,” he replied. " You have been a 
regularly lucky woman this last year. You never back a 
loser. Boats, dogs, or horses, it’s all one to you ; whatever 
you put your money on, wins. Your luck has been dead 


342 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


in ; but mark my words, Honoria, the Derby turns it. I 
wish you had every penny you’re worth on Morning 
Glory.” 

I am game to risk it,” she said. '' That is my challenge. 
Morning Glory against Abracadabra for every shilling I 
possess.” 

“ You’ve got a nerve,” he said, admiringly ; “ but it’s 
two to one on Abracadabra, and five or six to one against 
Morning Glory. If you lost thirty thousand could you 
stump up ? ” 

" I could.” 

And you want me to lay you the odds against Morning 
Glory. Well, to be honest with you, Honoria, if by some 
infernal chance you should win I shouldn’t be able to raise 
money enough to settle with you. As for getting such a 
sum on in the ring at this time of the day it would be an 
impossibility.” 

I don’t want money. Redwood,” said Honoria, with a 
bewitching smile, '' I want landed property.” 

“ Landed property ? ” 

"Landed property,” she repeated. "Women take 
odd notions into their heads ; IVe taken one into mine. 
What has the Chudleigh estate cost you ? ” 

" Cost me ! ” he cried with an oath. " I’d rather not 
mention the sum. It makes me wild to think of it.” 

"I challenge you,” said she, tauntingly, to lay me the 
deeds of the Chudleigh estate against thirty thousand 
of my money that Morning Glory does not win the 

He stared at her in blank amazement. " Are you mad ? ” 
he exclaimed. 

" I think I am. You haven’t the pluck?” Good-bye, 
then.” She turned, as though throwing him over for ever. 

" Not so fast, my lady,” he said, with white lips. " No 
one has ever seen me show the white feather yet where 
money is concerned. I was thinking more of you than of 
myself.” 

" I’ve no objection to your thinking of me,” she said, 
firing him with another look and a charming smile. "I do 
believe you mean it when vou say you love me,” 


pouna 

Derby 


TtES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


343 


You may believe it. I would sell my soul for you.’’ 

It hasn’t a market value, Redwood ; Chudleigh has ; 
and mad as I am on this fancy of mine, I’m a business 
woman. Do you really and truly love me, Louis ? ” 

He thrilled with pleasure as she addressed him by 
his Christian name. Haven’t I done enough to prove it, 
Honoria ? ” 

Not quite enough,” she replied. 

By 1 ” he swore another oath to emphasise his 

words. “ Here have I been hanging about you ever since 
you have been in London, adoring you, worshipping you, 
gratifying every wish, drawing cheques, buying diamonds 
— Oh, I’m not throwing it in your teeth, my lady ; I’m only 
going through the catalogue — waiting on you hand and 
foot, making myself a perfect slave, and all I’ve got for it 
is a kiss of your hand ” 

When you wanted my lips,” she interrupted saucily. 

She had never looked more lovely ; she knew her power, 
and was exercising it. 

I want you,” he cried, hoarse with passion. 

“ Who knows what may happen,” she asked saucily, 
'' when I really need a friend like you — when I am ruined ? 
As I shall be if you accept my challenge, and your horse 
wins the Derby. You could make your own terms. Do 
you dare ? ” 

Do I dare ? ” he retorted scornfully. The challenge 
is made.” 

'' Let us enter it,” she said, and she made an entry in 
her dainty betting book, he doing the same in his. “ Is 
this right, Louis ? ” She held out her book to him. 

'' Quite right,” he replied. 

You may as well initial it,” she said, '' and I will 
initial yours.” 

The interchange was made, and then they shook hands, 
both smiling into each other’s eyes, confident of victory. 

The paddock was emptying now; all the jockeys had 
passed the scales, and some two or three were already 
mounted and making their way to the course ; the others 
were mounting and accompanied by anxious trainers, own- 


344 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


ers, and backers, were following the leaders ; the book 
makers’ touts, having nothing more to pick up in that 
arena, were in the ring. Honoria and Redwood walked 
slowly to their box, both apparently cool and unconcerned ; 
they had made the great stake, of which no one was at 
present aware but themselves, and it was one of Redwood’s 
boasts that he could lose and win a hundred thousand 
pounds without turning a hair. Nevertheless, although he 
was completely successful in concealing his feelings, he was 
inwardly much agitated ; so much depended upon the next 
half-hour ; his life’s triumph or defeat seemed to hang upon 
the issue. 

''By Jove, you two!” cried Major Causton. "One 
would think you hadn’t a penny on the race. Let me con- 
gratulate you beforehand. Redwood. There’s no getting a 
bookmaker to take another fiver against Abracadabra. 
There he goes. What a beauty !’' 

The horses were cantering to the starting post, and 
every eye was noting Abrac^abra, and every voice was 
raised in admiration. A trainer whispered a word to Red- 
wood. 

" Declined,” he said, aloud. 

" Sixteen thousand,” said the trainer. 

' Thanks,” drawled Redwood, taking out a cigar. "Not 
for double the money.” 

" What is it. Redwood ?” inquired Honoria. 

" An offer of sixteen thousand for Abracadabra,” replied 
Redwood, " if he wins.” 

" He will be worth nearly as much,” said Honoria, " if 
he comes in second by a head.” 

" Why, of course,” Major Causton put in, "in that case 
the horse is yours. Eh, Redwood ?” 

" That’s so,” said Redwood. " I hope my head won’t 
ache till then.” 

Two or three asked the meaning of this, and Redwood 
himself explained it. When it became known that Honoria 
had such faith in Morning Glory some anxious souls rushed 
off to back it. These were men who believed in following 
the luck, and who were aware that Honoria had been hav- 
ing a wonderful run of late. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


345 


They *11 not thank you presently,’’ said Redwood, look- 
ing after them savagely. 

Redv/^ood and I are having a battle royal,” remarked 
Honoria to Major Causton. He swears by Abracadabra, I 
by Morning Glory. We have just made a heavy bet on 
our fancies.” 

That is no one’s affair but our own,” said Redwood, in 
surprise. 

I don’t know about that,” rejoined Honoria, looking 
through her glasses at the horses going to the post. Such 
a bet as we have just made is sure to leak out. There’s no 
keeping a thing secret in these days, is there. Major ? ” 

It’s difficult,” said Causton, if not impossible, with 
all these gadflies buzzing around. So you’ve turned book- 
maker, Redwood.” 

It is a whim of hers,” replied Redwood. She threw 
out a challenge, and I accepted it.” 

If I lose,” said Honoria, I shall be ruined.” 

What ! ” cried the Major. You are joking.” 

Not much of a joke,” observed Honoria, to lose thirty 
thousand pounds in one fell swoop. That is the correct 
quotation, I believe.” 

Major Causton ’s eyes travelled from her to Redwood, 
and back again. ‘‘You’re a pair of bantams. What odds 
have you got ? ” 

“ Landed estate,” said Honoria, quietly. “ When I see 
Morning Glory’s number the first to go up I shall be the 
mistress of Chudleigh. I refer you to Redwood.” 

“ There’s no trusting to a woman’s tongue,” said Red- 
wood, sulkily. “It’s a true bill. And when she sees 
Abracadabra’s number go up first she’ll be the poorer by 
thirty thousand pounds.” 

Major Causton whistled. 

“ Then,” said Honoria, in her sweetest voice, “ I shall 
have to commence life all over again, and Redwood has 
promised to be my friend.” 

“I understand,’' said Causton. “It’s one throw of the 
dice, and the battle’s lost or won. Lady of Chudleigh, 


846 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


She finished the sentence for him. Or a poor girl 
without a frock to her back, as I was when Redwood first 
knew me.” 

No further words were exchanged ; all their attention 
was now centred on the horses, which had reached the post. 
It was not an easy job for the starter; again and again the 
line was broken before he lowered his flag. 

What’s that devil breaking away ? ” shouted a man 
in the rear who had no glasses to assist him. 

No one near him replied ; it was Abracadabra. In this 
particular box the on-lookers were too deeply absorbed by 
conflicting passions to speak. From the near distance be- 
low them in the ring came the answer. 

It’s the favorite ! I’ll take seventy to forty ! ” 

Done ! ” cried a backer, and the bet was booked. 

A sigh of relief escaped from hundreds of the spectators 
who had backed Abracadabra ; the horse had only gone 
fifty yards, and was now leisurely turning round. Louis 
Redwood never took his eyes from his Voightlander. A 
loud shout arose from the vast throng. ‘'They’re off! 
They’re off!” And a momenu afterwards. “No! False 
start ! ” Abracadabra was the last to pull up. 

Major Causton glanced at Redwood, but could read 
nothing on that gentleman’s face. Kad Redwood’s thoughts 
been expressed in words he would have heard “Damn 
him ! What is he up to ? ” But such outspoken utterance 
would have been considered bad form. In these prelimin- 
ary movements Morning Glory had behaved admirably, 
showing not the least symptom of fretfulness or nervous- 
ness. The betting on the race was for the most part over ; 
only here and there did a small ready-money bookmaker 
or a welsher give occasional odds. Once more the horses 
seemed to be getting fairly in line, and again Abracadabra 
broke away ; and still Redwood’s face exhibited no trace of 
emotion. There was a delay of a couple of minutes, during 
which Redw’ood calmly wiped the fllm from his glass. 

“ He takes it coolly,” thought Major Causton. “ I should 
be another Vesuvius if I were in his place. Is there any- 
thing wrong with Abracadabra ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


847 


There had now been three false starts, and the suspense 
to many was maddening. For the fourth time a mighty 
roar rang out, '' They’re oiF ! They’re off ! ” The two 
white flags were dropped, one after another, and the bell 
was rung. A sudden hush fell upon the assembled thou- 
sands, each interested spectator following the movements of 
his own horse with suppressed excitement. Presently, 
however, tongues became loosened, and remarks were made 
and questions asked as the horses changed positions. 
Abracadabra and Morning Glory had both got well off, and 
were lying about sixth or seventh. Morning Glory being at 
the favorite’s heels. So they ran for three-quaiders of a 
mile. Redwood was quite satisfied with the position of his 
horse, whose jockey was following out his instructions to 
the letter, but occupied as he was in watching Abracadabra 
he cast an uneasy glance now and again at Morning 
Glory, whose tactics seemed to be to wait upon the 
favorite about three-quarters of a length in the rear. 
That Morning Glory should keep this unvarying posi- 
tion till they reached Tattenham Corner was a torment 
to Redwood, who would have been better pleased to see 
the horse he feared fall a length or two behind, or even to 
forge ahead before the real pinch came. The voices of the 
spectators grew louder as the horses rounded Tattenham 
Corner. The pace had been a cracker from the start, and 
now the leaders, having shot their bolt, lost ground at 
every stride. Up the straight they came, a gaily-colored 
cavalcade of joy and misery. Abracadabra and Morning 
Glory were now fourth and fifth, their relative positions 
being precisely the same as they had been all through the 
race. The air was pierced with shouts, and screams, and 
yells. “ Ten to one on the favorite ! Abracadabra wins ! 
the favorite wins ! What about Morning Glory ? ” They 
were second and third now ; the leader, an outsider suc- 
cumbed, and they were first and second, and within two 
hundred yards of the winning post. A chill fell upon 
Louis Redwood even in the midst of his excitement. It 
seemed to him as if Morning Glory had not varied an inch 
in its position towards Abracadabra, and as if Fate were 


348 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


waiting the final flash of a moment to deal him a heavy 
blow. Nothing else was in the race but these two horses, 
their nearest competitor being three lengths behind. A 
hundred yards only to the winning post, and Morning 
Glory drew slowly up. '' Abracadabra wins ! The favorite 
wins ! The favorite ! The favorite ! Morning Glory ! I’ll 
take two to one Morning Glory ! Morning Glory ! J\[orn- 
ing Glory ! Abracadabra ! ” The din was deafening ; it was 
as if Babel had broke loose. Hearts beat almost to bursting, 
faces flushed, eyes glared, voices were strained till they 
were in danger of cracking. A man fell down in a fit, 
foaming at the mouth, but no one paid him any attention. 
By a stroke of masterly riding Morning Glory ’s jockey had 
stolen in between Abracadabra and the rails ; Beane had 
no need to turn his head ; he felt the snort of his rival’s 
nostrils ; only four strides, and the goal was reached. At 
the first of these four strides Morning Glory was within 
half a head of Abracadabra ; at the second within a quarter 
of a head; at he third they were neck and neck. Fortune, 
fame, reputation, years of pleasure, the degradation of lives, 
rescue from despair and shame hung upon the last stride 
of these noble animals, whose jockeys, at the supreme 
moment seemed to lift them to the winning post, 
which they passed amidst a scene of indescribable excite- 
ment. 

‘‘ The favorite’s won ! No, Morning Glory ! I ll take 
odds it’s a dead heat ! Yes, a dead heat — a dead heat ! ” 

A shrewd, mottle-faced bookmaker leaning against a 
post made his deep voice heard through all the uproar. 

‘‘ Two monkeys to one on Morning Glory !” 

Redwood heard and recognized this voice, and he knew 
that when the issue of a race was in doubt it never erred. 
He did not move however ; his eyes were fixed upon the 
board. Scarcely two or three moments had elapsed since 
the horses had passed the post, but it seemed an age. The 
men were waiting on the platform with numbers in their 
hands, looking towards the judge’s box for their instruction. 
They stooped, and selected a number, and before they fixed 
it in its place the result was yelled all over the course. The 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


349 


number was 2. Morning Glory was declared the winner. 
Abracadabra second. 

With a smile on his lips and a curse in his heart, Louis 
Redwood dropped his glass, and as he put it in its sling he 
turned to Honoria. 

‘‘You have won,” he said. 

Honoria nodded, and returned his smile. 

She was a little dazed, because she did not yet quite 
realize the situation, but she betrayed very little excite- 
ment. In the first fiush of his defeat Louis Redwood gave 
scarcely a thought to the material stake he had lost. It 
was the probable loss of Honoria that stung him most ; she 
had slipped from his grasp in the very moment of his 
triumph, and still remained her own mistress, more than 
ever independent of him. There was yet a hope, however 
— a slender one, it is true, but it had happened before, and 
might happen now — that the winning jockey could not draw 
the weight. He offered his arm to Honoria. 

“ Coming to the paddock ? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” she replied, and placing her hand on his arm 
walked with him. She could not but admire him for his 
ease and self-possession. “ Are you going to raise an objec- 
tion?” she inquired. 

“Objection, be hanged!” he exclaimed. “The race is 
fairly won and lost. How do you feel ? ” 

“I don’t know yet ; 1 11 tell you by and by. How do 
you feel, after such a knock ? ” 

“ O, it isn’t the money that troubles me,” he said. “ It’s 
you. Are we friends still ? ” 

“ Why, certainly. What should I do without you ? 

There was comfort in this. “ You’ve said it, mind,” he 
cried. 

“ I’ve said it,” she replied. “ It will depend upon your- 
self.” 

“ In what way ? ” 

“ Didn’t I tell you I don’t know yet ? I must have time 
to get my breath. I’ve a great deal to think of now. 
Hunted out of Chudleigh the last time I was there. 
Returning to it its mistress and lady. There, don’t let’s 


350 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


talk about it just now. The mere thought of it bewilders 
me.'’ 

Only one question. Am I invited to the house- 
warming ? " 

'' Of course you are. The house-warming ! Yes, I dare 
say I shall give you one. It will be rare fun. You're first 
on the list." 

They met the returning horses at the gate of the pad- 
dock. As Morning Glory came in first between the divided 
line of spectators the jockey and Honoria exchanged a 
smiling glance. 

“ Hallo ! " whispered Redwood to her. 

‘‘ O, yes," said Honoria, as if answering a question. 

We have understood each other for weeks past. We each 
played our own bats. Redwood." 

Where did you get your brains from ? " he asked. 

That's the question. I'm a waif and stray, you know." 

‘'You're the loveliest woman in England." 

“ Especially now," she said, showing her white teeth. 

“ Especially always," he retorted. “ I have never 
wavered." 

“ You forget. You did once." 

“ That belongs to ancient history." 

“ It was only yesterday. I can see myself at this mo- 
ment in Chudleigh Woods." 

The jockeys passed the scales, and the voices of the 
racing touts rang through the air. “ All right ! " “ All 
right ! " Redwood did not exchange a word with his jockey 
Beane ; he believed in his heart that he had been sold. 

His disasters did not end here ; the day was not yet 
over. He and Honoria had heavy bets on the next two 
races, the High Weight Handicap and the Stanley Stakes, 
and the result was the same. He lost, and Honoria won. 

‘‘ Your star is in the ascendant," he said. 

“ I hear you have a notion of giving a house-warming 
at Chudleigh," said Major Causton to her. “ Is the furni- 
ture at the Hall yours as well as the estate ? " 

“ I never thought of that," she replied, and at once 
attacked Redwood. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


351 


I will make you a present of it/’ he said, grandly. 

It is not mine, then ? she asked. 

You did not win it,’' he said. What you won was 
landed property. I should like to lay you under an 
obligation to me.” 

I am under too many already. Besides, I don’t wish 
to bleed you to death.” 

'' What does it matter ? ” he muttered. 

“ Oh, I have a heart, though you may not believe it. No, 
I will not accept the gift. What do you value the lot at, 
pictures, furniture, belongings, everything ? ” 

I am no tradesman.” 

'' But name a sum — a fancy sum , if you like.” 

Say five thousand pounds ; but I don’t sell.” 

We’ll bet on it.” 

Anything you like.” 

The numbers for the next race, the Juvenile Plate, were 
going up. 

“ Let us try our luck,” she suggested. “ I’ll take odds 
against evens, and bet you five thousand pounds to every- 
thing that is in the Hall.” 

'' I’m content,” said Redwood, and the bet was made. 

The race was run, and up went the No. 7. 

Redwood laughed, and said, Nicked again. Now 
you are mistress of everything. If you want a waiter, hire 
me.” 

'' Upon my soul,” said one of the party. “She can’t lose. 
Providence is on her side.” 

“ I believe in the other gentleman,” observed Redwood. 
“ This is a black Wednesday for me, and no mistake.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

It is time to turn our attention to the other side of the 
picture and it will be a relief to many to leave the seamy 
side of human nature awhile. 

From the day Agnes Haldane left her father’s house at 


352 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


his stern command she had led a life of patient toil. She 
and Rachel Diprose did not remain long in the lodgings they 
took when they first came to London ; at Mr. Parton’s wish 
Agnes took rooms close to his residence in Westminster 
Palace road, and thus she had a friend near her upon whom 
she could rely. His first anxiety was, how they should live? 
She and Rachel, as we know, had but little money between 
them, and they set to work at once to solve the problem 
upon which hundreds of thousands of people in this great 
city are engaged from the cradle to the grave. Agnes and 
her faithful maid had many a battle wdth respect to expen- 
diture. The young lady did not wish to touch Rachels 
store, but George Millington’s sweetheart would not be 
denied. 

“ Bless you, my dear young lady,” said Rachel, w^hat 
you’ve got won t keep you a month, and then what are you 
going to do ? You don’t want to make me ashamed of my- 
self — you’ve too good a heart for that. If you don’t use 
my money I’ll throw it in the fire, and then, if you please, 
my lady, you won’t be hard enough to turn me away to 
starve. For that’s what it will come to. And even then 
I’ll never leave you. You can call in the police, of course, 
but I don’t think they’ll take me up, because you won’t be 
able to make them believe I’m doing anything wrong.” 

But, dear Rachel,” urged Agnes, can’t you see the 
difliculty you’re placing me in ? ” 

'' No, Miss, I can’t,” said Rachel stoutly, and that’s 
flat.” 


‘‘ I insist upon your listening to reason, Rachel.” 

“ I’ll listen to anything you say. Miss, but that doesn’t 
mean that I shall agree with it.” 

Sit down, Rachel, and hear reason.” Rachel sat down 
and gazed stolidly before her. “ Look at me, Rachel.” 

“ Yes, Miss ; but don’t break my heart, please.” 

You foolish girl, you know I love you too well for 
that.” 


And I love you too w^ell. Miss, if you’ll forgive me for 
saying so, to leave you all alone in this great black city, 
with its crowds of strangers, and its smoke, and its hard 
ways.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


353 


I know you love me, Rachel, but you must remember 
your duty.’^ 

It’s what I am remembering, Miss.” 

“ I shall be cross with you it* you interrupt me, Rachel.” 

Then I won’t speak another word. Miss,” and Rachel 
threw her apron over her face. 

Agnes softly removed it, and her fingers touched 
Rachel’s neck caressingly. Rachel caught her young lady’s 
hand, and kissed it and would not let it go. It was only 
by the exercise of gentle force that Agnes could release 
herself, for it was manifestly impossible for her to say 
what was in her mind with the faithful girl hanging on to 
her hand like that. 

I am afraid,” said Agnes, reprovingly, that you are 
very backward in some things.” 

Begging your pardon. Miss,” said Rachel, boldly, so 
are you.” 

'‘Tell me my faults, Rachel.” 

Only too glad for this diversion, Rachel said, "Well, 
Miss, in cooking, for one thing.’" 

" I fear you are right, Rachel, but I shall soon learn.” 

" Pray, Miss, who are you going to learn from ? ” 

" Oh, I shall teach myself,” replied Agnes, feeling her- 
self at a disadvantage. 

" It’s not possible. Miss. You couldn’t learn a foreign 
[language without a book, or a guide, or living in a foreign 
[Country. Now, could you, Miss ? ” 

" It would be difficult, I own,” said Agnes, who could 
not resist a smile at this direct thrust. 

" That’s where it is, Miss. Cooking’s a foreign language 
to you.” 

" No, Rachel, it is a very different thing.’ 

" Why, how can you say so. Miss ? When I was out 
yesterday, didn’t you try to boil a potato ? What came of 
■ft?” 

[ "Not a boiled potato, certainly,” confessed Agnes, 
mughing outright. 

r " That settles it. Miss,” said Rachel, and would have 


354 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


It does not settle it. I shall learn in a little while.** 
Three times have you tried, Miss,** said the obstinate 
Rachel, “ and three times have you made a — well, I won*t 
say what, of it. It *11 take you years to learn, and do you 
think I could sit by, and never see a floury one on your 
plate. No, I couldn*t. I should be a murderer.** 

‘‘ A murderer, Rachel ! Oh, you foolish girl ! ** 

Not at all. Miss. To eat *em as you boil *em would 
be the death of you, and it’s me that would bring it about.** 
Is there any arguing with such a creature ? ** asked 
Agnes, casting bright looks around. 

No, Miss, there isn’t.** And Rachel tried to rise again, 
as though the discussion had reached its natural end. 

‘‘ You will make me angry with you, Rachel.” 

Anything but that, Miss,” said Rachel, with a deep 
sigh of resignation, except leaving you.” 

I must speak to you about duty,” said Agnes, with an 
attempt at severity. 

“ Very well. Miss. I’m willing to learn, only I must 
agree first.” 

“ Rachel, my dear, you have a sweetheart ? ** 

I have. Miss ; as good a man as ever stepped.” 

“ He loves you fondly, you fortunate girl, and you must 
do your duty by him.” 

I’m doing it. Miss, by keeping with you.” 

‘‘ Now, Rachel, Rachel ! ** 

It’s true. Miss. If he thought different I*d never look 
at him again, because neither my George nor any man shall 
ever make me do what I think is wrong.” 

Is it not possible,” said Agnes, in her gentlest tone, 
'' that you yourself may be doing wrong in not going to 
the home he is providing for you ? ** 

No, Miss, I don’t think it is. The home can wait, and 
so can George. He hasn’t waited for me so long as you 
think, and if he is satisfied, and I am satisfied, what’s the 
use of talking about it ? ” 

“ Rachel, my dear, your George is a man of right feeling 
and good judgment. I will tell you what I should say if I 
were in his place. ‘ Here is my dear sweetheart* — I am 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


855 


speaking for him, you know — ^ Here is my dear sweetheart 
loving me, and ready to come to me, and here am I ready 
to commence a new and happy life with the dearest girl in 
the world. But somebody is putting us back, somebody is 
keeping us from each other, somebody is separating us. 
That somebody is a selfish lady, who is doing all she can 
to prevent my Rachel and me from being happy together. 
She ought to be ashamed of herself to impose upon a foolish, 
simple girl so.’ And George is right, my dear ; I am 
ashamed of myself for acting so. Do you see it as I do ? ” 
No, Miss,” said Rachel, steadily, and somewhat slowly, 
if I did I should despise myself ; if I did I should not be 
worthy of any man. O, my dear young lady, you are 
doing a great wrong by calling yourself selfish, and by 
thinking what you say. But you don’t, you don’t ! It is 
only because you don’t think of yourself, but only of me, 
that you are trying to persuade me to leave you. And it 
is true, is it, that you are doing all you can to keep us 
apart ? Are you not doing everything possible to bring us 
together a month or two sooner than we want to be? 
George knows this as well as myself, and if I was to go 
to him this very day and say, ' Here I am, George ; I have 
left her, and now you can put up the banns,’ I believe he’d 
turn his back upon me, and curl up his lip, and saj’’, ‘ I don’t 
want you ; you’re not the girl I took you for.’ That’s 
what you’d be doing. Miss ; separating us instead of bring- 
ing us together. If you want to do that ” 

And h^ere Rachel broke out into tears, and her agitation 
was more powerful than her arguments. The two mingled 
their tears together, and so, for a time there was a break 
in this fond battle of feminine logic. But it was only a 
break. Agnes renewed it again and again, until at length 
George Millington himself spoke to her about it, and 
declared that Rachel was acting with his full and free con- 
sent. It must be confessed that the young fellow was 
somewhat rueful, for the longing to commence the new and 
happy life was strong upon him, but he spoke up manfully, 
and whatever opinion Agnes may have entertained of his 
absolute sincerity she was compelled to give way. Rachel 


356 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


loved him all the more for Iiis self-denial, and she made it 
up to him in the tender courtship between them, looking 
forward always to the bright future in a way (as she told 
him) she never could have thought of if things had been 
different. 

And now, perliaps it may be supposed that, after the 
usual fashion of novelists, the story will branch out into a 
dismal record of the struggles and privations endured by 
these two brave and obstinate young women. But, happily, 
there is no need for this, and the writer is not called upon 
to invent melancholy incidents and episodes to excite the 
reader s compassion. Struggles they had, but not greater 
than they could cope with. They had to work for their 
living as a matter of course. This, when the affectionate 
contest was ended, they both agreed to. The question was, 
what kind of work they were fitted for and could obtain, 
to pay the necessary expenses of board and lodging. They 
succeeded in getting needlework, but after a month’s trial 
found that it was not only slavery which would make their 
young fives a burden, but that even then they could not 
earn sufficient to pay their way. This applies especially to 
Agnes, who could do dainty, but not rough work, and such 
delicate labor with the needle as she was fitted for was 
not to be obtained. It was different with Rachel. Putting 
down figures and making calculations — ^you have no idea 
how business-like they were in their practical consideration 
of their position — it was found that Rachel with her needle 
could earn an average of eight shillings a week, and find 
time as well to do the cooking and housekeeping. . Further 
than this she had no need, for the earning of these weekly 
shillings, to work after seven o’clock p.m., and this left her 
evenings free for George — though she would not have him 
come every day ; she limited him to twice a week, which, 
after a time, was extended to three evenings out of the 
seven. Then, about Agnes. Assisted by Mr. Parton’s lim- 
ited influence, she actually succeeded in securing a footing 
in a postal telegraph office, where she proved so valuable 
an acquisition, that she brought home with her every week 
no less a sum than eighteen shillings. This, with Rachel’s 


TIES, HUMAN and DIVINE. 


357 


eight, made up a total of twenty-six shillings, and upon 
this they lived as happily as they could expect under 
the circumstances into which they had been plunged. 

It had been indicated and plainly stated that these two 
young women were of an obstinate nature. Obstinate may 
not be the proper term ; say, rather, then, that they were 
firm in their resolves, and that, having made up their minds 
as to what it was right to do, they carried out their resolu- 
tions with surprising firmness. In this spirit they were 
equals, and neither could fairly claim the advantage over 
the other. Instances of Rachel’s firmness and remarkable 
consistency have afready been given. We will say a word 
now of Agnes’ conduct in this respect. 

Frederick Parton come home from New Zealand, all 
his castles in the air tumbled down and extinguished. He 
went out to make his fortune ; he came home penniless, 
and in somewhat feeble health. But the medicine of love, 
no less than his own manliness and courage, soon restored 
him, and he put his shoulder to the wheel with a will. 
Tender and sweet was the first meeting of the lovers, and 
as tender and sweet was the after communion of two young 
souls welded together by pure and true affection. 

I have Agnes to work for now,” said Frederick to his 
father. * Money separated lis ; the want of money unites 
us. Let us be thankful for poverty.” 

This was quixotic, but there was a measure of sincerity 
and absolute thankfulness in it. And shortly after his re- 
turn to England an astonishing thing occurred. The 
world, that had been blind so long, suddenly opened its 
eyes to the undoubted genius of father and son. They 
painted pictures which were talked of, and the consequence 
was that they found themselves ascending the ladder. 
Their paintings were welcomed in the Academy, and the 
galleries, and they had the satisfaction of seeing them hung. 
Unfortunately they fell into the hands of picture dealers, 
not in the first rank, and were beguiled by this crew into 
mortgaging their brushes three years ahead. Only those 
who have worked for years, hoping against hope, till hope 
is almost dead, know how easy it is to fall a victim to these 


358 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


sharp dealers. But the Bartons, father and son, were satis- 
fied. The long struggle was over, and fame was theirs, 
and fortune would be ; and for the present their purses 
were sufficiently filled for their needs. 

But love is impatient, and Frederick pleaded for mar- 
riage. Agnes listened, and her heart went out to him, but 
the promise to her father held her back. 

He is not in England,’’ said Frederick, and you do not 
know in what part of the world he is to be found. How, 
then, can you obtain his consent ? ” 

It was a solemn promise,” Agnes answered, solemnly 
given, and I feel that it is binding upon me. It is my duty 
to wait.” 

He pleaded, but pleaded in vain ; she was not to be 
moved. Thus did she rival her faithful maid Rachel 
Diprose. All that he could prevail upon her to undertake 
was that if she could not obtain her father’s consent to 
their union before she was three and twenty, she would ask 
him to wait no longer. With this he was fain to be content, 
and Rachel, being informed of her mistress’s resol v^e, 
communicated it to George Millington, who also possessed 
his soul in pa tience. If he and Frederick Barton had compared 
notes they would have agreed that their prospective brides 
had remarkable strength of character and an equally 
remarkable sense of duty. Setting marriage aside awhile 
they had much to be thankful for. The course of true love 
was running smooth, and a bright future lay before them. 


CHABTER XXXIX. 

Honoria became a very busy woman indeed after Good- 
wood, and the administration of her affairs occupied her 
day and night. Before Goodwood she had had enough to 
do, but she conducted her transactions more privately. 
Apart from these transactions, some clue to the nature of 
which will in due time be given, she became more than ever 
a public character. The extraordinary bets she had made 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


S59 


with Louis Redwood leaked out, as a matter of course, and 
were recorded and commented upon in the society papers. 
She was spoken of as '' the lady of Chudleigh,'’ and the 
strait-laced portion of society were much scandalized by 
the news that a woman of more than doubtful reputation 
had come into possession of an estate boasting of an ancient 
and honorable record. Of the attacks made upon her she took 
no notice whatever. That she read them was evident, for 
the papers containing them were always to be found in her 
house. Probably she was aware that she had more friends 
than enemies, and it is a fact that in many quarters, and 
with thousands and thousands of people who had never 
beheld her,she was spoken of in terms of genuine admiration. 
She was as deserving of this admiration as of the fainter 
censure which pursued her. That her nature was 

kind and sympathetic and that an appeal to her 

charity was seldom made in vain were facts which 
had long been established, but after the Derby she 
came out in a new character. No public appeal for 
money for charitable purposes was made without her 
responding to it, and her name was to be found 

in every advertised list of subscriptions. A number 
of miners perished in a colliery explosion, and an 

appeal for a widows’ and orphans’ fund was made, under 
the auspices of the Lord Mayor. Honoria, £50.” The 
poor-box of a magistrate’s court was stated to be empty. 
“ Honoria, £20.” The circumstances of a destitute family 
were brought to light by the harsh and unnecessary 
summons of a Board School inspector, and some small 
subscriptions were sent to the magistrate to lift them from 
poverty. Among these subscriptions, Honoria, £5.” A 
child’s paper asked for help towards a sick cot in a hospital. 

Honoria, £10.” Other hospitals appealed for funds, and 
Honoria contributed to all. She made no distinction of 
race or class, but gave liberally to every one. Like the 
constant dripping of water, this merciful iteration of her 
name had its effect in softening the feelings of those who 
were inclined to judge her harshly ; in a certain sense it 
cut the ground from under their feet, and had an open 


360 TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

comparison of their charity and hers been made it would 
not have resulted favorably to them. The curiosity of 
strangers grew apace, and the name of Honoria was in 
everyone’s mouth. An article in a society paper went the 
round of the press in a more or less abridged form. In 
this article, which was headed, Honoria and her Charity,” 
a list was given of the amounts she had contributed to 
benevolent purposes in the course of six weeks ; it totted 
up to £2,000. This,” said the writer, “ is at the rate of 
£18,000 per annum. And we have it on undoubted 
authority that her private benefactions are on as large- 
hearted a scale. Who, after this, will venture to whisper 
a word against her ? She sets a noble example to ladies 
who pride themselves upon their virtue.” In these days 
of publicity such interesting items as this reach all classes 
of society, from the highest to the lowest, and in the 
poorer quarters of the city, especially, Honoria was idealized 
far beyond her deserts or the deserts of any woman. Thus 
the measure of her popularity could not but be agreeable to 
her. 

In other ways, also, she continued to excite wonder and 
admiration. After Epsom came Ascot, and there she won 
more money, some of it from Redwood, who was beginning 
to be spoken of with suspicion. The knowing ones said, 
‘‘It is impossible for him to last long at the pace he is 
going.” After Ascot came Sandown, and her luck continued. 
Then Kempton, and Sandown again, (she did not go to 
Newmarket), and finally Goodwood ; and at all these meet- 
ings she added to her store. As she rose, Louis Redwood 
fell, but he bore his losses with outward equanimity and 
composure, and paid up without a murmur. It was true 
that to do this he was compelled to have sudden and secret 
conferences with his legal agents. Lamb and Freshwater, 
at which they invariably looked very grave, and shook 
their heads after his departure ; but their alarm at this 
drifting of his boat of good fortune did not appear to have 
any effect upon Redwood, who was as haughty and imperi- 
ous as ever, and would not listen to expostulations. Clerks 
were kept up all night preparing deeds, which were 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


361 


brought to him early in the morning for his signature ; 
and the spendthrift would afterwards be seen in his usual 
haunts with unruffled feathers and spirits. It was a pecu- 
liar feature in his conduct during these disastrous weeks 
that, adoring Honoria as he professed, he set himself 
determinedly against her in all matters of chance or skill 
upon which money was staked. It was only necessary for 
her to say that she was going to back a horse at such and 
such a meeting, and he would immediately offer to lay 
against it. She took the odds from him, saying lightly. 
You may as well lose your money to me as to anyone 
else.'’ Better,” he replied ; '' but I shall beat you yet, my 
lady.’' In her house baccarat and roulette were occasion- 
ally played ; she backed red, he backed black, and so with 
other chances. And her good luck stuck to her and his 
bad luck stuck to him. They did not play for small stakes ; 
large sums of money were lost and won. At Goodwood 
came some “ swashing blows.” He had a horse in the 
Stewards’ Cup ; he backed it and lost.. A two-year-old in 
the Prince of Wales’ Stakes cost him a lot of money. He 
laughed at these reverses, for was he not going to pull it 
all back, and more, on the Goodwood Cup, in which his 
horse was favorite at long odds on. The ring, always ready 
to strip the skin off a man’s back, obliged him by taking 
the odds from him. Honoria, also challenged, accepted what 
he offered ; and the result was that his horse was beaten 
by a good two lengths. Honoria looked at him curiously 
at this last stroke, and for the first time she saw his lips 
twitch. But he recovered himself almost immediately, 
and, with a dare-devil laugh, asked her if she was coming 
to the paddock. On the way, he said — 

Did it ever occur to you that I might one day com- 
mit murder ? ” 

Not exactly that,” she replied. ''Your courage would 
fail you at the last moment.” 

When she saw him look at the renowned jockey Beane, 
who rode his horses and who could win for other owners 
but not for him, she knew what he meant. She herself 
had a suspicion that Beane was " selling ” his master in the 


362 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


interests of certain bookmakers, and had often wondered 
why Redwood did not put up some other jockey. She 
liad, indeed, expressed this wonder to him, not imagining 
that her doubt of the jockey's honesty was sufficient to 
make Redwood stick to him all the closer. 

Meanwhile all Chudleigh was in a state of the greatest 
excitement. The village w^as once more alive. Relays of 
workmen made their appearance, and the old house and 
the park w^ere put in thorough order. Money was spent 
freely, and the inhabitants, who had fallen into the dullest 
of trances, suddenly shook themselves awake and behaved 
with animation. The landlord of the ‘'Brindled Cow,” 
wdio, being held back by his wife, the dominant authority 
in his establishment, had not realized his ambition of 
setting up a public in London, polished up his pots and 
glasses, and briskly bestirred himself. For were not his 
bar and taproom thronged with the men Honoria s agents 
had sent down to put the place in order for her, and was 
not his till resounding with the chink of silver and copper ? 
“ It is like old times come again,” he said, rubbing his 
hands. “And as sure as I’m alive there’s my old friend 
Simpson ! ” There was his old friend Simpson truly, hold- 
ing out his hand to him and asking how he was. Simpson 
had been lent by Louis Redw^ood to Honoria, and was in 
Chudleigh now upon her business and in her interests. 
There was no newspaper in the sleepy village, and the 
world’s aftairs were so far apart from the inhabitants of 
Chudleigh that they did not trouble themselves about 
them. They had heard nothing of Honoria coming into 
possession of the estate ; all that they knew was that the 
Haldanes had lost it, and that the Hall had been empty 
ever since. 

The landlord of the “ Brindled Cow ” did not find Simp- 
son over communicative ; Simpson had been warned not to 
let his tongue run too freely, and to be especially reticent 
as to who the new owner of the estate really was. He 
would have been better pleased if no restriction had 
been put upon him, but he knew how to extract some 
tribute in the way of self-importance from the mystery. 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


363 


YouVe the very man we want,’’ said the landlord, 
after inviting Simpson to a drink. '' What sort of a family 
is it that’s coming to the Hall ? Is it a large family ? Are 
they going to keep here ? Are they rich ? Are they free 
with their money ? ” 

Can’t answer all your questions,” said Simpson, my 
position being a confidential one, you know. But you shall 
see what you shall see. Don’t let it go any further, but it’s 
a lady that’s now the master. That’s between you and me. 
As for being free with her money, the Haldanes weren’t in 
it with her.” 

That’s enough for me,” said the landlord blithely. 

“ There’s to be a house-warming,” said Simpson ; “ lots 
of company ; any number of swells.” 

That sounds promising. A man might as well be dead 
as alive in the times we’ve gone through lately. When are 
they coming ? ” 

About the end of August,” said Simpson. “ Exact date 
not fixed yet.” 

And then, after partaking of another drink at the land- 
lord’s expense, Simpson went to the Hall to see how things 
were getting along there. 


CHAPTER XL. 

It was during the second week in August that Honoria met 
with an adventure. She was shopping in Regent street, 
and, her purchases made, was about to step into her car- 
riage when the figures of two persons attracted her attention. 
One was our friend Mr. Millington, the other an elderly 
woman in rags whom she did not know. Both were gazing 
at her, but in different ways. Pity, curiosity, and a certain 
quality of admiration were expressed in Mr. Millington’s 
: eyes, and a hungering greediness in the eyes of the woman. 

I This latter might have been caused by the contrast between 
: them, Honoria representing wealth and luxury, the elderly 
i woman representing the uttermost depth of poverty. 


364 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Honoria gave her a shilling, and, pausing a moment, beck- 
oned to Mr. Millington, who, till then, had made no move- 
ment towards her. 

It is a long time since we met,’’ she said, holding out 
her hand to him. '' Would you mind stepping into my 
carriage with me ? ” 

I had rather not,” said Mr. Millington. If you wish 
to speak to me you can do so here.” 

It was a rebuke, and Honoria accepted it as such, but 
she made no comment upon it. 

“ It will not hurt you,” she said, to walk a little way 
with me.” 

No,” he replied, “ I will do that.” 

They crossed the road, and Honoria led the way to a 
quieter street. The raggedly-dressed woman followed them 
at a little distance. 

Mr. Millington,” said Honoria, “ you see I do not for- 
get your name — I am in your debt.” 

I am not aware of it.” 

You must remember the night you took me from Chud- 
leigh to London ? ” 

“ I remember it very well.” 

“ You paid for my fare, and spent money upon me. I 
owe you that much, at all events.” 

The money was repaid to me.” 

'' By a lady ? ” 

By a lady.” 

It cannot do her any harm if I mention her name. 
Miss Haldane ?” 

Yes. Miss Haldane.” 

Heaven reward her ! I showed her great ingratitude. 
I do not seek to excuse myself, Mr. Millington, and though 
I do not deserve your respect, it would be charitable to 
pity me.” 

'' I do sincerely pity you.” 

Thank you. Have you seen Miss Haldane lately ? ” 

I see her frequently.” 

Is she in London, then ? ” 

She has been in London for some time.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


365 


I trust she is happy.” 

She is as happy as she can be in her circum- 
stances.” 

'' You cannot mean that she is poor ? ” 

If you have any other subject to speak of,” said Mr. 
Millington, '' do so, please. I cannot continue this.” 

You are right,” said Honoria, with a sigh. '' Mr. Mil- 
lington, I think no one in London knows me as I know 
myself. Even when you say you pity me, you do it only 
out of compliment, and to save yourself from saying some- 
thing harder.” 

‘'You are wrong: I do honestly pity you.” 

“ I see Mr. Haldane every day,” said Honoria, “ and he 
does not mention his daughter s name. I hear he is not 
friendly with her. It is this, perhaps, that renders her less 
I happy than she should be. In an indirect manner, Mr. 
Millington, I have shown some recognition of her kindness 
towards me. It has been my good fortune to be in a 
position to extend a helping hand to some poor persons, and 
, to distribute a small portion of what has fallen to my share 
among those who who are struggling with misfortune. It 
is the memory of her goodness that has urged me to this 
and that will urge to do it as long as it is in my power. It 
could not come out of my own nature, because I am 
thoroughly bad. Perhaps you will remember what I say 
when all the world turns its back upon me — as it did once 
before in my life — all the world but her. Mr. Millington, 
I have been thinking lately of writing to j^ou and asking 
you to do me a service.” 

‘‘ I cannot see in what way I can be of service to you,” 

I said Mr. Millington, stiffly. 

‘‘ It may also be rendering a service to. two poor women 
in trouble, though that is not my only motive. I will not 
go into any further explanation, because you would neither 
.understand nor sympathize with me. I thought it likely 
that you might recommend me to a reliable person who 
jcould obtain some information for me.” 

Some information respecting others I ” 

^‘Yes.” 


366 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


‘‘ You want an inquiry agent ? ” 

Yes, an honest man.’' 

There are plenty of them. Why come to me ? ” 
Because I want a man upon whom I can thoroughly 
rely. It is a matter so delicate that I would rather not go 
to an entire stranger. Will you oblige me ? ” 

I must first know the names of the women you refer to,” 
said Mr. Millington. He was nut disposed to trust Honoria, 
and he had a suspicion that she had Miss Haldane and 
Rachel Diprose in her mind. 

I will tell you willingly. Their name is Kennedy, and 
they live in Wellington street. South Lambeth.” 

‘‘ Mrs. Kennedy and her daughter ! ” exclaimed Mr. 
Millington. 

“ lou are acquainted with them ? ” 

‘‘ No, but a friend of mine is, and strangely enough he 
is an inquiry agent, and in former years did some business 
for Mrs. Kennedy in connection with Mr. Haldane.” 

The name escaped his lips before he could check its 
utterance. It was Honoria s turn now to be surprised. 

That is very singular,” she said, and it makes me all 
the more anxious. He may be the very man I want. 
I beg that you will not refuse me. I assure you 
my motive is a good one.” 

I will be frank with you,” said Mr. Millington. On 
the night before the Derby my friend and I were in the 
Royal Palace of Pleasure, and witnessed the accident to 
the lad whom you befriended and took to South Lambeth 
in your carriage. My friend heard you give the address — 
it was 7, Wellington street, I think — and we followed you 
there. After you entered the house we saw Mrs. Kennedy 
come from it, with some work she was taking home.” He 
paused a moment or two before he spoke again. I will 
give you his address. His name is Barlow. He took the 
greatest interest in Mrs. Kennedy’s commission, which w^as 
only relinquished because she had no money to prosecute 
it. It is likely he will be glad to take it up again. If he 
does, and carries it, with your help, to a successful issue, 
you will be the means of doing justice to one who has been 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


367 


grievously wronged.^’ He wrote Mr. Barlow’s name and 
address on a card, and gave it to Honoria. 

Is he in his office now, Mr. Millington ? ” she asked. 

I think you will find him there.” 

Do you live in the same house to which you took me 
on the night you brought me from Chudleigh ? ” 

'' Yes.” 

Thank you. Perhaps you will not mind taking my 
card. You may wish to say something to me on this or 
some other matter. Mr. Millington, you have laid me un- 
der another deep obligation to you. I am rich ; money is 
no object to me. Should you desire to serve any one and 
will come to me I shall be more than ever indebted to you.” 

He stood with her card in his hand looking after her as 
she walked towards Regent street. So interested and en- 
grossed was he in following her movements that the card 
slipped from his hand. The raggedly dressed woman who 
had not removed her eyes from them during the interview, 
darted forward and picked it up. 

Yes,” she mumbled, reading the name and address, 
Honoria. It is Honoria ! ” A doubt crossed her mind. 
But there may be more than one of that name.” 

‘‘ The card, please,” said Mr. Millington, but she put her 
hand behind her back. 

She is a grand lady — a grand lady ! You know her, 
kind sir ? ” 

I know something of her. I will trouble you for the 
card.” 

"'Don’t be in such a hurry, kind sir. She wouldn’t 
thank you for it. What do you know of her ? Where 
she comes from, eh ? Tell me that, kind sir.” 

" Indeed I shall not tell you. It can be no concern of 
yours.” 

; " If you won’t tell me,” cried the woman, " I’ll tell you. 

I What do you say to Chudleigh, kind sir ? ” 

" Come, come,” said Mr. Millington, " you are not the 
only one who knows that. The lady gave you a shilling ; 
here’s another for you. Now hand me that card. I want 
the address.” 


368 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


“ So do I, SO do I — and my memory ain’t as good as it 
was. Would you mind writing it down for me ? ” 

Had he not wished to avoid a scene and to get away, 
Mr. Millington would have refused, so for his own sake, 
more than that of the wretched woman before him, he 
wrote the address on the back of an envelope, and recovered 
the card. 

‘‘ Would you like me to tell you, kind sir,” said the 
woman, ‘‘ where she came from before she went to Chud- 
leigh ? What do you say to Bittern ? ” 

Mr. Millington’s memory was not in the same condition 
as hers, and he recollected that Bittern was the village 
mentioned by Simpson on his first introduction to Honoria 
in Chudleigh as being the place she lived in when quite a 
little child, with a woman who suddenly disappeared and 
left her to the mercy of the world. Was this the woman ? 
This mental question caused him to tarry awhile. 

" Are you a native of Bittern ? ” he asked. 

“ No, kind sir.” 

“ Of Chudleigh?” 

“ No, kind sir. I am London born and London bred.” 

“ But you lived in Bittern a good many years ago, taking 
care of a child ? ” 

She gave him a Roland for his Oliver. “ That is no 
concern of yours,” she said. “ I’ve got a secret to sell. It 
might be worth money, now she’s a fine lady. Who knows 
— who knows ? ” 

She was hurrying away when he stopped her. “ A 
moment, my good woman. You are not overburdened 
with money.” 

I’m very poor, very poor, kind sir,” she whined. 

‘‘ I will give you,” said Mr. Millington, producing his 
purse, a shilling each if you will answer two questions, 
two simple, innocent questions.” 

It was a tempting offer ; these shillings represented 
fine gold in the eyes of the poverty-stricken woman ; and 
yet she paused. 

Depends upon what they are, kind sir.” 

“ You did live in Bittern some years ago, and a little 
child was in your care ? ” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


369 


That's the two questions," she said, with cunning. 

I mean it as one. The second will follow." 

‘‘ Yes, kind sir, I did. Give me the shilling." 

“ Not till you have answered the second question. Was 
that child — a girl — your own ? " 

Was I her mother ? No, kind sir. Give me the two 
shillings." 

He gave her the money, and she went away. He looked 
after her thoughtfully, as he had looked after Honoria. 
It was only when she was out of sight that he recollected 
that Mr. Haldane was the man who, under a false name, 
had betrayed the woman who was now passing as Mrs. 
Kennedy's daughter. Had he done right or wrong in 
recommending Honoria to go to Mr. Barlow ? He could 
not determine, nor could he arrive at any conclusion as to 
the nature of the interest which Honoria took in Mrs. 
Kennedy and her supposed daughter, whom he now be- 
lieved to be Adeline Ducroz. Much disturbed in his mind, 
he walked slowly home. 

i 


CHAPTER XLI. 

On the 25th of August, Honoria made her entrance into 
Chudleigh. On the day previous Louis Redwood was 
closeted with his legal advisers — Messrs. Lamb and 
Freshwater. 

We are bound to lay these matters before you, sir," 
said Mr. Lamb, who was the spokesman of the firm. 

“ I suppose there's no help for it," said Louis Redwood, 
but it is an infernal nuisance for all that." 

) It is not quite the way to look at it," responded 
Mr. Lamb. 

It is the way I look at it," retorted Redwood. 

Mr. Lamb was a lawyer of the old school, and a gentle- 
man of the old school. He still wore the frilled shirt and the 
high stock, and though his clothes were made by a modern 
tailor, they were of th^ old cut and style. He woiild wear 


370 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


no other, and it added to the respect in which he was 
borne by clients as old, but not as old-fashioned, as 
himself. 

“ The vital question now is,” said Mr. Lamb, what is 
to be done ? ” 

Mr. Freshwater nodded, and his lips moved. He was 
mutely repeating his partner s words, What is to be 
done ? ” 

“ That,” replied Redwood, “ is a question for you to 
answer.” 

“ It is a question, sir,” said Mr. Lamb, '' that we have 
been asking for several years.” 

And a question,” said Redwood, “ that you have always 
answered, and answered satisfactorily.” 

“ Everything,” observed Mr. Lamb, ‘‘comes to an end.” 

“ Comes to an end,” mutely repeated Mr. Freshwater. 
It was the part he played in interviews of this nature. 

. “ A fine estate,” continued Mr. Lamb, as Louis Redwood 
leant back in his chair, chewing a cigar, “ wasted, squand- 
ered, I may say. A noble fortune which should now be 
standing at double the amount it was instead of standing 
at zero.” 

“ Zero,” said Louis Redwood, “ has been the ruin of many 
good fellows.” 

“ Will you look over these papers, sir ?” 

“ Psha ! What would be the use ? I am perfectly 
satisfied with your figures. I have never questioned them. 
If I devote a week to an examination of them, it would not 
alter the result.” 

“ It would not, sir. They are here, however, for your 
examination, at any time, or for the examination of any 
person you may appoint. Have you at the present 
moment any idea of the extent of your fortune on the day 
you came of age ?” 

“ At the present moment I have no idea whatever. At 
the present moment I have only one wish, that the fortune j 
was as great to-day as it was o.i the day I came of age.” 

“We echo that wish, sir, with all our hearts.” 

Mr. Freshwater mutely repeated, “ With all our hearts.” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


371 


But that,’’ said Redwood, is a vain wish. Picking 
up spilt milk. Quite out of the question.” 

Entirely. Your income, in round numbers, sir, when 
you came of age, was eighty-two thousand pounds. Where 
has it all gone to ?” 

'' Echo answers,” said Redwood. 

“ It was not our duty to dictate. Simply to advise. 
Occasionally to remonstrate.” 

“ Time thrown away, I am afraid.” 

Entirely thrown away, as to our sorrow we learned. 
You are aware, sir,” said Mr. Lamb, waving his hand with 
a slow pathetic motion over the table which was strewn 
with papers, '' what these spell now.” 

Tell me.” 

“ They spell ruin.” 

They spell ruin,” mutely repeated Mr. Freshwater. 

“ Absolute ? 

“ Absolute.” 

To the last thousand.” 

Perhaps not quite that. There is your estate in War- 
wickshire, upon which there is only a first mortgage. The 
property is increasing in value.” 

Louis Redwood laughed. ‘"I knew there was some- 
thing left — always a chestnut in the fire.” 

The last, sir, the last.” 

“I have heard that before. Your friendly interest in 
my welfare makes you take too melancholy a view. There 
is something still more besides the Warwickshire estate. 
Come, confess now, Mr. Lamb.” 

'' What I have done in earlier days affords no criterion. 
I assure you there is nothing else left.” 

On your honor as a gentleman ? ” 
f On my honor as a gentleman.” 

I That settles it. A second mortgage, now, on the War- 
wickshire estate. How much can you raise ? ” 

I beg you to consider, sir.” 

‘‘I decline. Money I must have. It is increasing in 
value, you say. Borrow to the hilt. You have made 
inquiries, I know, and some sharp fellow is ready to plank 
the money down. How much ? ” 


372 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Fifteen thousand,’’ said Mr. Lamb, with a sigh. 

'' I can break the bank a dozen times over with that 
amount. But I’ve a better diggings than Monte Carlo. 
Doncaster, Mr. Lamb, Doncaster. Do you know what will 
win the Leger ? I do, and I’ll put a monkey on for you ; 
but I’m forgetting — you never bet. Not my own horse this 
time, Mr. Lamb. I can get ten to one, ten to one. Before 
a month has gone by that fifteen thousand will be a 
hundred thousand, and when once the ball is set rolling it 
goes on rolling. It’s a mathematical certainty that the 
luck must turn if you don’t desert your colors. Mr. Lamb, 
borrow that money for me immedia^tely, without a day’s 
delay, and pay it in to my credit. I am going to Chudleigh 
to-morrow, and shall be at the Manor Hall till the eighth of 
next month. I will run up to London to sign the deeds, or 
you can send them down to me. Whichever you please. 
Meanwhile you can oblige me by paying in to my bank a 
couple of thousand — say t*hree. Is that understood ? ” 

‘'We can do what you wish, sir ; but this will be the 
end.” 

“ Will be the end,” repeated Mr. Freshwater. 

“ Not by a long way,” said Redwood, shaking hands 
with his advisers. “ Never prophesy until you know.” 

Honoria’s entrance into Chudleigh was an event des- 
tined to live in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, who- 
ever that may be. With the exception of those who lived 
at the rectory every man and woman turned out to wel- 
come her. The small windows of the cottages that lined 
the narrow road leading to the park were bright with 
flowers, and everything was sweet and fresh and trim. It 
had been her intention at first to go down by train, but she 
had been persuaded into adopting the more public entry 
upon her property, for it was really hers now, and she was 
the landlady of half the humble cottages she passed. 

“ It will look like sneaking into the Hall,” Redwood 
said, “ and as if you were ashamed of being seen there.” 

That remark decided her. How well she remembered 
every nook and corner in the village, and the last night she 
had spent there ! She was very quiet as she rode along ; 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


373 


there was no pride in her face. Its expression was sad 
even to sternness, and Louis Redwood remarked it with sur- 
prise. 

“ What has come over you ? ” he asked. “ You are a 
changed woman ” 

“ Yes, I am changed/' she replied, and her voice was 
hard and cold. I have made a strange discovery this last 
week. I have never till now realized how thoroughly base 
and wdcked a man can be." 

He chimed in with her humor. We are a bad lot/' 
he said, but we are what we are made to be, I suppose." 

What we are made to be ! " she said musingly. Yes, 
what we are made to be. Redwood, if a man did you a 
mortal injury, if Tie ruined your life and brought you down 
to the gutter, if through his act people looked upon him 
with contempt and scorn instead of respect, if by his cow- 
ardice and treachery he poisoned your blood and made a 
shame and a by-word of you, would you forgive him ? " 

Redwood's face darkened. Are you thinking of me," 
he asked, and do you want me to trap myself ? " 

“ I am not thinking of you, but of another man." 

“ Then drive him down, and pay the debt you owe 
him ! " he cried savagely. 

I must find some way to do this. Can I count upon 
your assistance ? " 

There is nothing you bid me do that I will shrink 
from." 

It was he who was the beggar now, it was he who 
implored and entreated, and whose fate seemed to hang 
upon her words, as her fate had once hung upon his. They 
had changed places. She ruled, and he was at her feet, at 
the feet of the outcast he had spurned and taunted in 
Chudleigh Woods. 

''You have your revenge," he said, as the women of the 
village curtseyed and locks were pulled in servile obeisance. 

" I take no pleasure in it," she said. " I would like to 
know what is in their hearts." 

" I would like to know what is in yours." 

" You may soon." 


374 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


He caught at the words, twisting hope out of them. 

Do you mean it, Honoria ? 

I have never in my life been more earnest — and that 
must content you. Don’t pester me with questions ; I 
must work my mood out my own way, which,” she added, 
with a touch of her old self, '' is a wilful way, as you have 
found out long since.” 

You are a witch,” he said, '' and I was a fool, once 
upon a time. But it’s never too late to learn, I hope.” 

I have a little surprise in store,” she said, presently, 
for some who will be my guests this week at the Hall, 
and I shall have a little secret which I must keep to myself 
till the time comes to reveal it. You have promised your 
assistance. If you fail, or cross me, I will never speak 
another word to you. Remember that.” 

He repeated his assurance of obedience, and then they 
talked of other matters. 

The following day the guests began to arrive, and Hon- 
oria welcomed them as though she had been born into the 
state in which she so strangely found herself. There was 
no awkwardness in her manners, and she and those she 
had invited were quite at home with each other, Mr. 
Haldane was there, and feeling himself called upon to play 
a part as strange as that of Honoria, he succeeded in con- 
cealing his feelings. His worldly condition had not im- 
proved. His passion for gambling kept him poor, and on 
three separate occasions Honoria had lent him money. He 
was in need of a loan now, but Honoria held off somewhat, 
and told him he must wait. 

You shall have more than you ask for,” she said, 
'' before our party breaks up.” 

He smiled his thanks, and she suddenly turned her face 
from him to conceal the expression of repugnance which 
flashed into it at his fawning, But though he did not see 
it he thought her manner strange, and he spoke of ic to 
Redwood. 

She is in a queer temper,” said Redwood ; she told 
me so herself. Leave her alone ; she’ll soon come round.’' 

The guests were all men ; there was not a female among 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


375 


them ; men of the world, men about town, drawn together 
by a certain magnetism, and behaving decorously and with 
propriety, and yet with a freedom which would not have 
obtained in the restraining presence of ladies. 

On the first night of this gathering an incident occurred 
of which only one of the guests was cognizant. All the men, 
with the exception of Major Causton, were playing cards or 
billards. The hour was eleven, and the excitement of the 
gambling kept the men together. Outside on the lawn 
Honoria and Major Causton were holding watch. 

You will not betray me,'’ said Honoria. 

‘'As a man of honor and a gentleman,” said Major 
Causton, his hand on his heart, “ your secret is mine, and 
shall not pass my lips.” 

Her own lips curled when he made this reference 
to himself as a gentleman and a man of honor, but she was 
satisfied with his assurance. She was to pay him well for 
such services as she needed from him. If he betrayed her 
his purse would be so much the lighter. To an impecunious 
man this fact was a sufficiently strong chain. 

' “ Hark ! ” said Honoria. “ I think I hear them.” 

It was the sound of wheels she heard. The sound came 
closer, and at a signal from Causton, who had gone forward, 
a carriage with the windows down stopped within fifty 
yards of the house. Two women, one supporting the other, 
alighted from the carriage, and Honoria stepped lightly up 
to them, and passed her arm round the weaker of the two. 
{Hie hall door was open. 

I “ See if all is safe,” said Honoria to Major Causton, 
rand wave your handkerchief if no one is about.” 

I The handkerchief was waved, and Honoria and her 
tompanions passed into the house, and ascended the stairs 
^ lo the left wing, the apartments in which were devoted 
mlely to Honoria’s use. On the top of the staircase Honoria 
tasied towards Major Causton, who was standing at the 
foot. She put her finger to her lips. Causton nodded, and 
pe three women went into their apartments. 


376 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

On the following day none of the guests saw their hostess. 
Neither at breakfast nor at dinner did she make her 
appearance, and the men looked at each other and asked 
Mr. Haldane and Louis Redwood the reason of her absence. 
These gentlemen, however, could give no satisfactory reply 
to the inquiry, being as much in the dark as their com- 
panions. Privately they questioned Simpson, who knew 
little, but suspected much. Accustomed to pry slyly into 
matters which did not immediately concern himself he had 
ascertained that there had been sent into Honoria^s. apart- 
ments more than sufficient food for one person. Honoria 
had brought with her to the Hall a female servant entirely 
devoted to her, and upon whose secrecy she could rely. 
This woman waited upon her mistress, and not one of the 
other servants was allowed to enter the rooms which 
Honoria had set apart for her own use. She took the trays 
and dishes from the attendants who brought them from 
the kitchen, and waited until they had descended the 
stairs before she carried the food into her mistress’ apart- 
ments, and in all her movements the same air of secrecy 
was observed. Simpson made an endeavor to ingratiate 
himself into her confidence, but she would exchange no 
words with him. Very mysterious,” said he to himself, 
and, his curiosity whetted, he applied himself to the task 
of elucidating the mystery. He was so far successful as to 
become convinced that there were other occupants in the 
left wing besides Honoria and her servant, but his dis- 
coveries did not extend beyond this. Such as they were 
he communicated them to his master Louis Redwood, who 
could make nothing of them. 

‘‘ She is beyond me, Haldane,” he said. " Perhaps she 
has a surprise in store for us.” 

Mr. Haldane had cogent reasons for wishing to see 
Honoria. The gambling on the previous night had been 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


377 


heavy, and he had lost a large sum of money, for which he 
had given his paper, payable on demand. He had no means 
to meet his obligations, and he depended upon Honoria’s 
half promise to put him in funds. He sent a note to her, 
and received no reply. However, his creditors did not 
press him, and on the second night he played with them 
again, and again lost heavily. During the daytime the 
guests did pretty much as they liked ; smoked, rode, played 
billiards for small stakes, and made excursions into the 
woods and grounds. It was not until night that serious 
play was indulged in. Honoria had privately put every 
one of them on good behaviour, otherwise the villagers 
would very likely have been scandalized. 

At noon on the third day the guests, talking among 
themselves, discussed Honoria’s absence, and decided that 
it was altogether too bad for her to keep herself aloof from 
them. Redwood mentioned Simpson’s suspicions, that she 
had friends in her apartments to whom they had not been 
introduced. Simpson was called, and questioned. He had 
seen nothing, but he had heard voices. “ Men’s voices ? ” 
they asked. ‘"No,” replied Simpson, women’s.” They 
agreed that the affair was growing very strange, and one 
among them suggested that they should send a round 
robin ” to Honoria, in the shape of a petition, begging her 
to favor them with her presence, and to favor them, also, 
with an introduction to the ladies for whom she had 
deserted them. To this petition, which was signed by all 
her guests, Honoria returned a reply that she would meet 
them in the music-room (an apartment specially fitted for 
large receptions) in the course of a quarter of an hour. 
They thronged round her on her entrance, but she waved 
them away with a gesture of command which was instantly 
obeyed. One end of the music-room was slightly raised, so 
that, standing there, Honoria, who was above the ordinary 
stature of women, topped the tallest of her guests by an 
inch or two. They noted a change in her. During the last 
few days she seemed to have grown years older ; there was 
a stern expression upon her face, and her eyes, travelling 
around, dwelt a moment with aversion upon the figure of 


878 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


Mr. Haldane, who had taken up his position to the left of 
her. She commenced to speak abruptly. 

“ It is scarcely courteous of me,'' she said, '' that I should 
invite you here, and then, as you say, desert you. I hope 
there has been nothing wanting." 

They answered in various ways that everything was 
perfection, that her hospitality was princely, that if the 
Hall were their own they could not expect better treatment, 
and that the only thing they had to complain of was that 
she should absent herself from them. 

‘‘ I had a motive," she said, which I do not intend to 
keep from you much longer. You are right in your surmise 
that I have lady friends in my private apartments to wdiorn 
you have not been introduced. Only one of the gentlemen 
present is acquainted with these ladies, and it is scarcely 
fair that he -should possess a privilege from which the others 
are debarred. I propose to make you all acquainted with 
them this evening after supper. I take it that you are all 
men of honor. 

They became grave instantly, and nodded. Even the 
shadiest amongst them did not hesitate to arrogate the dis- 
tinction. 

“ It is a delicate matter," said Honoria, '‘^and I believe I 
shall surprise and interest you in certain disclosures I pro- 
pose to make to you after dinner. I wish to enlist your 
sympathies, your manliness, all that is best within you, in 
the cause of suffering and unmerited misfortune. Who 
will be my knights V 

They cried with one voice that all would. They had 
not the smallest understanding of her meaning, but they 
imagined that she had some amusing novelty with which 
she intended to entertain them. 

'' I wish you," she pursued, to elect six gentlemen as a 
Council of Honor, who shall in some sense occupy the posi- 
tion of judges in what I have to disclose." 

'' Are we not to hear it ?” they asked. 

“ Y es," she replied, all of you. Indeed, I shall exact a 
promise that you are all present, and that not one of you 
shall leave the room till I have finished what I have to 
say." 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


379 


“ Jove,’^ cried a guest. ''It is like a romance.’’ 

" A sad romance,” said Honoria. " Say, rather, a page 
out of life’s history. Do you all promise to let me do what 
I wish in my own way, and not to thwart me ? I ask it as 
a favor.” 

The eldest gentleman there said it was not a favor she 
asked, it was a right, and that they would pledge them- 
selves unhesitatingly, in testimony of which he called upon 
them to hold up their hands. Every hand was held up. 

" The man who forfeits his word,” said Honoria, " is 
unworthy the name of gentleman. Now if you please, we 
will adjourn. We shall meet again at dinner.” 

" And your lady friends ?” they asked. 

" You will see them afterwards. We dine at eight. At 
ten I shall expect to see you all here in this room.” 

These words were intended as a dismissal, and they 
filed out. Two lingered behind, Louis Redwood and Mr. 
Haldane. 

" What is all this mystery about, Honoria ?” inquired 
Redwood. 

" You will learn to-night. I answer no questions now. 
Mr. Haldane, I should like a moment or two with you.” 

" That is an order to me to go,” said Redwood, savagely. 
" Well, it will be all one in a hundred years. Haldane, you 
will find me in the billiard room.” 

He swung away in a furious temper swiftly and sure- 
ly Honoria seemed to be slipping from him. 

"You sent me a note,” said Honoria to Mr. Haldane, 
when they were alone, " asking for money. I did not re- 
ply, because you are already sufficiently in my debt.” 

" But you promised me,” said Mr. Haldane, uneasily. 

" Not exactly. I think I said that before our party 
breaks up you should have more than you bargained for. 
That can hardly be construed into a promise. Mr. Hal- 
dane, do you think you have any claim upon me ? ” 

" Only upon your kindness.” 

" You have no real claim upon me ? ” 

" None that I know of.” 

" It is I, perhaps, who have a claim upon you. Do not 


380 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


interrupt me. You will hear stranger things than that be- 
fore we have done with each other You lost heavily last 
night.” 

I did, and the night before as well. Ill luck has 
dogged me all my life.” 

It is unfortunate ; and you have done nothing to de- 
serve it ? ” 

‘‘ Nothing whatever.” 

Honoria s fixed gaze brought the color to his cheeks. 
A scornful laugh escaped her. He could not meet her gaze, 
and he looked down nervously. 

It must seem strange to you, Mr. Haldane,” she said 
presently, “ to find yourself merely a guest where once you 
were master.” 

Do you think I have not suffered enough without re- 
minding me of it ? ” he cried, with a movement of despair. 

Others have suflfered also ; but it is not of this matter 
I wish to speak just now. You have given your paper for 
your losses these last two nights.” 

“ Have they been blabbing about it ? ” he asked sulkily. 

It has reached my ears. How much have you lost ?” 

Eight hundred pounds.” 

‘‘ And you owe me six. That makes fourteen hundred. 
It is the price I am willing to pay for something I will 
purchase of you.” 

Mr. Haldane caught his breath, and a moment after- 
wards said bitterly, “ I did not know I possessed anything 
of such value. I should like to hear what it is.” 

“ You have a daughter in London, Miss Agnes Haldane, 
of whom we spoke a little time ago.” 

“If she were my property,” said Mr. Haldane, in a 
brutal tone, “ I would sell her to you for that sum with 
pleasure.” 

“Of that I have very little doubt,” said Honoria, 
steadily. “Anyone acquainted with your history would 
give you credit for just so much feeling.” 

“ You are safe in insulting me,” he remarked. 

“ Between you and me there can be no question of 
insult. We have an account to settle, and when it is settled 
the balance against you will be one you cannot wipe off,” 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


381 


He thought she referred to the money she had already 
given him, and he was silent, conscious that, apart from 
this fourteen hundred pounds, he was humilatingly in her 
debt. Then it occurred to him that one of the ladies in 
her private apartments to whom they were to be intro- 
duced that night might be his daughter. He put the ques- 
tion to her, and she answ’^ered plainly that his daughter 
Agnes was not in Chudleigh. 

So you will not sell,’' she added, and turned as if about 
to leave him. 

'' You have not told me what it is you wish to buy,” he 
said, quickly, stepping before her. 

It is simply your consent to Miss Haldane s marriage 
with Mr. Frederick Parton, the gentleman she loves and to 
whom she is engaged ” 

Oh, that ! ” he exclaimed, with a frown. “ You seem 
to know a great deal about me.” 

“ More than you are aware of,” she rejoined. '' My 
time is valuable. Do you sell ? ” 

It was imperative that he should pay the debt he had 
incurred, and there was no other way. Clear once more, 
there was still a chance, his credit remaining good, of his 
winning a big stake from the men with whom he was in 
association. 

I sell,” he said. I presume you will yourself convey 
this precious consent of mine to my daughter.” 

I shall have nothing to do with it,” she said. ^'You 
will write a letter to her, removing the ban you placed 
upon her happiness I stipulate that my name shall not 
be mentioned.” 

“ I will write to her in the course of the day, and I will 
send the letter when I obtain her address.” 

'' You will write to her now, in this room, before you 
leave me. I will give you her address. ” 

“ You do not trust me ; you will not take my word ? ” 

Good God ! ” she cried, striking with her hand thb 
chair by which she was standing. What woman would, 
knowing what I know ? ” 

He turned white to his lips. Passing his hand across 


382 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


his forehead he raised his eyes to her face, upon which 
horror and contempt were expressed. The face of the 
woman he had betrayed and degraded rose to his mind. 
Appalled by the memory of his treachery, he whispered. 

Who and what are you ? 

Write the letter,’' she said, pointing to a table, upon 
which were writing materials. “ What I purchase of you 
to-day for fourteen hundred pounds will not be worth four- 
teen pence to-morrow.” 

He spoke no more, but moving to the table, wrote the 
following letter, which he handed to her : 

My dear daughter, — You gave me a promise that you 
would not marry Mr. Frederick Parton without my consent. 
I am pleased now to give you my consent to your union 
with that gentleman. — Your affectionate father, 

"C. HALDANE.” 

Honoria read the letter, and handing it back to him, 
dictated the address which he also wrote. 

Put the letter in the envelope, and fasten it,” she said. 
“ I will see that it is delivered. Here is a cheque for eight 
hundred pounds, and my receipt for the money you owe 
me.” 

In silence he took the papers from her hand, and with 
a last cowardly look at her left the room. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

Not one of those present in the music room of the Manor 
Hall on this night was likely ever to forget the scene of 
which he was a witness ; upon some it made an indelible 
impression. During the hours before dinner there had 
been a great deal of conversation with respect to what 
Honoria had said to them in the morning, and they asked 
one another for an explanation of the mystery. No satis- 
factory information, however, could be given l3y any of the 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


383 


guests, although Honoria s statement that there was one 
among them who was acquainted with the ladies to whom 
they were to be introduced was frequently quoted. Louis 
Redwood was questioned, and declared that he knew nothing 
whatever of them ; Mr. Haldane declared the same ; but 
both these gentleman were stirred by an uneasy feeling that 
the surprise Honoria had in store for her guests was 
destined to be in some way unpleasant to themselves. 
Major Causton, who was known to be in Honoria s confid- 
ence, was also closely questioned, but he declared upon his 
honor that although he knew of the presence of two strange 
ladies in the house, he had no idea who they were, and had, 
in fact, not seen their faces. Honoria’s desire that six of 
their body should be elected as a council of honor was much 
discussed ; they laughed at it rather, but felt bound to caiTy 
out her wish. The difficult point to decide was whom 
should they select. Eventually it was decided that the 
election should be by ballot, and among the six gentlemen 
so elected were the friends, Louis Redwood and Mr. Hal- 
dane. '' Bound to vote for you, old fellow,’’ they said to 
Mr. Haldane, '' for you were once master here. Devilish 
hard luck to lose such an estate.” 

At the dinner table, where Honoria, as she had prom- 
ised, made her appearance, she was asked what form the 
entertainment she had provided for them would take, 
and her reply was that it would take the form of a 
story. 

“ Only a story, Honoria 1 ” protested a gentleman. 

I was in hopes that you were going to give us a ro- 
mance.” 

'' Some persons might even call it that,” said Honoria ; 
’'"but whatever it is you will find it sufficiently inter- 
' esting.” 

{ When, at ten o’clock, all the guests being assembled in 
Ifche music-room, she made her entrance, a buzz of admir- 
jktion went round. Her dress, her beauty, her jewels, were 
l^e theme of general admiration. Gad ! ” cried an elderly 
mue. ‘'She deserves her position.” The names of her 
jauncil of Honor were submitted to her, and her eyes 


384 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


gleamed as they rested upon the names of Mr. Haldane and 
Louis Redwood. She inquired how the selection had been 
made, and was informed by ballot. 

‘‘ Do you believe in fate, gentlemen ? she asked. Some 
did, and some did not. “ There is something like fatality/’ 
she added, “ in Mr. Haldane and Mr. Redwood being on the 
Council. They might have to sit in judgment on them- 
selves.” 

They said that tliis would make the proceeding all 
the more interesting, and then Honoria asked them to 
be seated, and, standing, held up her liand for silence. 

“ The story I have to tell,” she commenced, “ is a story 
of real life. It begins, as most other stories do, I suppose, 
with one man and one woman. 

The woman, at that time a young girl, with no exper- 
ience of the world such as we possess, was living in the 
home of a lady who had adopted her, and who loved her 
as a daughter. She was foolishly ignorant and foolishly 
simple. The man was a man of the world, who I have no 
doubt had already had many adventures and experiences. 
He was so clever as to be able to overmatch simplicity, and 
he succeeded here as perhaps he succeeded elsewhere. A 
year after they first met they were living together, and 
were not man and wife.” 

The gentlemen shifted rather awkwardly on their chairs. 
Their hostess was telling them, so far, nothing new or novel, 
but to hear the familiar story told in plain, direct language 
by a woman, and such a woman as Honoria, was an entire! 
new experience to them, and stirred up feelings which they 
would rather had lain dormant. 

‘‘ Of course,” she proceeded, '' he had promised her 
marriage, and of course had not fulfilled his promise. But 
for a little time she believed herself to be a wife, because 
he had so far satisfied her scruples as to go through some 
ceremony with her in a private house which she understood 
to be legally binding. I have told you that she was a 
simple, foolish girl, but she is not the only one who has 
trusted a man’s word and has been deceived. 

'' The ceremony I speak of took place in America, where 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


385 


the man had followed the woman. Mr. Haldane, may I 
inquire if my story is wearying you ? ’’ 

Mr. Haldane, white and trembling, had involuntarily 
risen to his feet, but at this direct question he became con- 
cious that general attention was drawn to him, and with 
an attempt to regain his self-possession, he jauntily waved 
his hand, and resumed his seat. He could not, however, 
sufficiently command his voice to reply. Honoria con- 
tinued — 

“ In England it would have been more difficult to carry 
out such a deception. In America, where the woman was 
an entire stranger, he found it comparatively easy. I must 
mention another circumstance in connection with my 
story ; the man played his part under an assumed name. 

Beginning to be tired of his toy, he returned to Eng- 
land in her company. They lived for a little while in Lon- 
don. From London they went to Paris, and there the 
I woman learned that she was not married, and there a child 
' was born, a girl. 

'' And there the man deserted the woman, and left her 
'to perish. From that time until the present moment she 
has never seen the face of the man who ruined her life. 

'' I perfectly understand what I am saying. I perfectly 
understand my position. I know the place I hold in the 
world, and I am aware that there are shameful points of 
jresemblance between this woman and myself. Pray do not 
interrupt me, or you will make the task I have set myself, 
land intend to perform, more difficult than it already is. I 
speaking plainly for various reasons, one of which is 
jihat our acquaintance ends this night. Thanking you for 
^he trouble I have put you to in visiting this house, I beg 
i dJiat you will to-morrow morning leave me to a duty I see 
ijbefore me. 

y. ''1 must not do injustice to the man I have spoken of. 

I iWhen he deserted the woman in Paris he did not leave her 
^ die in want. He employed agents, through whom he 
laontributed to her support. He did not think she would 
&ve long to trouble him. In this he was mistaken. The 
jj^oman is now living. 


386 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


But there is a moral as well as a physical death. This 
kind of death came to the woman. 

‘‘ Weak, foolish, despairing, she took to drink. You 
know what that means. Am I not speaking plainly ? 

‘‘ There is one law for a man, and another law for a 
woman. The woman of my story fell. The man retained 
his place. She crawled through the world ; he went, smil- 
ing, through it. This is called justice. 

I perceive that Mr. Haldane continues to be restless 
and disturbed. If he doubts my story, if he thinks it is a 
jest I am playing upon him, let me inform him that I am a 
living proof of its truth. 

It has not often happened that a woman, wronged by 
a man as this woman was, is able to turn the tables upon 
him. It happens now and here. 

Alone, helpless, degraded, the woman crawled her way 
through the world. She even lost her child ; she was told 
it died. It was false. The child lived, and lives. 

“ I promised to introduce you to two ladies who are living 
with me here in a state of seclusion. I am about to redeem 
my promise. 

Before I do so let me confess that in asking you to 
elect a. Council of Honor I was hardly in earnest. Even if 
it were not a sad joke I should decline to accept two of the 
persons you have named. You, and they, will know to 
whom I refer. The Council, therefore, does not exist, not 
being competent, as a body, to decide a question of honor. 
If they were, it would not alter the story I have told you, 
or the judgment the w^orld will pass upon it.” 

She moved to the door, and passed through it. Before 
the excited conversation into which her guests fell could 
take definite form or expression she returned, accompanied 
by two ladies. 

One w^as an elderly lady, whose bearing was distinguished 
by a peculiar sadness and dignity. The other was a lady, 
decently dressed upon whose face degradation had set its 
seal. Her cheeks were bloated, her eyes were bleared, her 
form trembled and shook, her hands were stretched forth 
helplessly, pitifully. Had it not been for the support of the 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


887 


elderly lady and Honoria, between whom she stood, the image 
of hopeless despair and imbecility, she would have fallen to 
the ground. 

'' This is my mother,’’ said Honoria, drawing herself to 
her full height, of whose existence I was aware only a few 
short weeks ago.” 

They gazed at her and her companions in silent wonder. 
For two or three minutes no word was spoken. Then 
Honoria turned to the elderly lady. 

Mrs. Kennedy,” she said, '' when my mother, then a 
young girl, was living in your home, she made the 
acquaintance of a man known to you and her as Mr. Julius 
Clifford. Kindly look around, and tell me if he is present 
in this room.” 

''That is he,” said Mrs. Kennedy, pointing to Mr. 
Haldane. 

" Infamous ! Infamous ! ” 

The murmurs came from the guests. There was not 
one among them who could have claimed a spotless record, 
but they were not directly concerned in this adventure, 
and, being thus relieved, they were not slow in pronounc- 
ing judgment. The crime of the exposed man was that he 
had been found out ; for such a crime there is no for- 
giveness ; a man’s own peers will unhesitatingly condemn 
him when he comes to this pass. 

" Yes,” said Honoria, " it is infamous. That man is my 
father, and for that man I entertain a horror too deep for 
expression. This house, which once was his, belongs now 
to me. Who shall say that I, being his daughter, have no 
right here ? Who shall say that my mother, who should 
have been his wife, has no right here ? Let him carry 
away with him the memory of this scene as part of his 
punishment for his infamous crime. Human justice has 
failed, but by Divine judgment he stands condemned.” 

She kissed her mother, and conducted her and Mrs. 
Kennedy to the door. When those two ladies were gone 
she spoke again : 

'‘ Mr. Haldane, you sleep not another night under this 
roof, or under any roof which covers me. You once turned 


388 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


another daughter, my half-sister, an angel of purity and 
goodness, from your house, and threw her upon the mercy 
of the world — as you threw my mother upon its mercy. 
But her fate is a happier one. I, who am not worthy to 
speak her name, pray that God will shield and protect her, 
and make all her future bright and happy ! As you 
turned her from your house I turn you now from mine. 
Mr. Redwood, you and I have been for some time past 
playing a comedy — ^you called it so, I remember. It is 
finished. The curtain has fallen. From this night you 
and I are strangers. Gentlemen, farewell. I thank you 
for your patience. Our acquaintance is at an end.” 

They bowed to her as she passed from the room — all 
with the exception of Louis Redwood and Mr. Haldane, 
Louis Redwood stood looking after her, chewing his mous- 
tache ; there was a furious light in his eyes, but he knew 
that he was powerless, and that Honoria, the woman he 
had betrayed, had triumphed. Mr. Haldane, with his head 
bowed down, slunk away. Not a friendly word was spoken 
to him, not a friendly hand held out. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

Not more than a mile from Buckingham Palace road stands 
a little church which still retains something of a rustic air, 
although it is within measurable distance of the heart of 
this great city, where the hum of restless, eager life is 
heard through all the waking hours of the day. An ancient 
tree has resisted the march of progress, and. its branches 
spread over the pretty porch ; birds’ nests are there, which 
have witnessed many a happy mating, and when the snow 
is on the ground kind-hearted people throw crumbs to the 
sparrows who find shelter therein. A fitting place, there- 
fore, for a wedding, in winter or summer — indeed, all the 
y’ear round, for love has no special season, but buds and 
blossoms without reference to the calendar. 

At the present time, which happens to be a sunny day 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


389 


in early October, a forgotten day in summer which has 
suddenly put in its claim, to the delight of old and young, 
there is a little gathering of idle people around the old 
church, basking in the sunshine, and listening to the twit- 
tering of the birds which this forgotten summer day is 
shamefully deceiving. Two weddings are to be celebrated 
there, and the idlers are waiting for the wedding parties. 
While they are chattering below on the roadway, and the 
birds are chattering above in the branches, with that 
special lightheartedness which distinguishes such occasions, 
a woman, plainly dressed and closely veiled, approaches 
the church, and enters it. No one takes any notice of 
her, the entire interest being absorbed in the wedding 
parties, the carriages containing which are just turning the 
corner of a street about thirty yards away. A murmur 
passes round. Here they come — here they come,” and 
the genially disposed idlers form themselves into two lines, 
with a sufficient space between to allow the important 
actors to pass through. 

There are two carriages, which is rather a disappoint- 
ment to the spectators, who would have preferred a dozen, 
or more ; but as in the arrangements for the weddings there 
was no reason why their inclinations should have been 
consulted they have no reasonable cause for complaint. 
They soon and quickly solace themselves by staring at the 
parties. From one of the carriages descend Agnes Haldane, 
Frederick Parton and his father, and Mr. Barlow. From 
the other Rachel Diprose, George Millington and his father, 
and Mrs. Barlow. Mr. Barlow is to give Miss Haldane 
away, and Mrs. Barlow stands female sponsor to Rachel 
Diprose. 

There is a difference of opinion as to which of the brides 
is the prettier, but all are agreed that they are both the 
very picture of happiness. Perhaps for openly expressed 
happiness George Millington would take the palm, but joy 
is flowing in the hearts of brides and bridegrooms alike. 
Faithful love, tried in adversity and never found wanting, 
is at length rewarded. The dark days are over, and though 
winter is near, love's sun is shining brightly and tenderly. 


S90 


TIES, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 


The words which bind each to the other are spoken. 
The rings are on the fingers, tlie kisses are exchanged, the 
names are signed. Agnes opens her arms to Rachel, and 
the girls are locked in a fond embrace. 

“ Dear Rachel ! murmurs Agnes, and can say no more, 
her heart is so full. 

My dear mistress ! ” murmurs Rachel. 

What need for further words between them ? Standing 
on the threshold of a new life these fair young creatures 
are the symbols of sweetness and faithfulness. 

Rachel is the first to recover herself. She slips to the 
side of her George. 

YouVe got me at last, George,” she says, crying and 
laughing at the same time. 

And I mean to keep you, Rachel,” says George, kissing 
her again in the church — which I believe is against the 
regulations. 

'' But George, dear ” 

Yes, my darling ? ” 

You were so impatient ! I was almost afraid I was 
going to lose you, and that another girl would stand in my 
place.” 

'' As if that could have ever happened ! ” says incredul- 
ous George. “ Well, dad ? ” 

Wei], my boy ? ” says Mr. Millington. 

That is about all that passed between father and son. 
How feeble are written words ? How eloquent are tones 
and looks ! 

Upon Agnes’ finger is another plain ring of gold, with a 
single letter engraved upon its inner surface — H. Agnes 
looks around the church, and her eyes rest upon the figure 
of the woman still closely veiled, who had entered before 
the ceremony. She leaves her bridegroom’s side, and goes 
to the pew in which this woman is standing. 

Honoria ! ” 

Miss Haldane — forgive me — Mrs. Barton ! ” 

Not to you, Honoria. I am Agnes ! ” 

Agnes ! ” 

Kiss me, sister ! ” 

'' God bless you ! God reward you ! ” 


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possible. It is a book that can safely be recommended to lovers of 
good light literature, — Home Journal, 

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133, an& Bnnette • - By B. L. Farjeon 

The title of the Dickens of to-day seems to be very generally 
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134, XLbC Demoniac - - By Walter Besant 

A charming tale of constancy which irresistibly draws out our 
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135, JSrave Ibeart an^ XTtue - By Florence Marryat 

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** Brave Heart and True ” is Florence Marryat’s last and one of 
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136> Xa&lg /IRauDe^6 /Iftanla - By Geo. Manville Fenn 

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137. /libatcla - ... By W. E. Norris 

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through three orTour generations as gracefully as a well-bred man 
might point out the portraits of his ancestors in the family picture 
gallery . — Quarterly Review. 

In portraiture of character and delicate finish of detail, W. E. 
Norris takes high rank among the novelists of the day . — Boston 
Globe. 

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138» TKIlOtmWOO& - • - By Marie Corelli 

A story of absinthe and absintheurs, a grim, realistic drama. — 
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he or she makes, to realize the tempest which rages through the 
man possessed of the liquid fire . — Kensington Society. 

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Zbc Ibonotable JUXSiee • - By L,T. Meads 

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Spectator. 

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140. B JBUter JBtrtbriflbt - • By Dora Rjssell 

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141. a Double Itnot. - By George Manville Fenn 

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for them many and delighted readers.” — Albany Argus. 

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142. B 3fOe . . . By G. A. Kenty 

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established.” — Detroit A dzertiser. 

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143. *lllritb - - - - By S. Baring-Gould 

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144. S>augbter • - - By A. Sergeant 

Adeline Sergeant has established for herself an enviable repu- 
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English novelists. 

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145. B /Iftint Ot /Roneig - By George Manville Fenn 

Fenn’s novels are all interesting, the characters are original and 
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Lovell’s International Series— Continued 


Cts. 


Whose was the Hand ? M. E. 

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The Blind Musician. Step- 
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The House on the Scar. 

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The Wages of Sin. L. Malet 50 
The Phantom ’Rickshaw. 

Rudyard Kipling 50 

The Love of a Lady. Annie 

Thomas 50 

How Came He Dead? J. 

Fitzgera ' d M olloy 50 

The Vicomte’s Bride. Esme 

Stuart 50 

A Reverend Gentleman. 

J. Maclaren Cobban 50 

Notes from the ‘News.’ 

James Pay n 50 

The Keeper of the Keys. 

F. W. Robinson 50 

The Scudamores. F. C. 

Philips and C. J. Wills 50 

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Sowing the Wind. E. Lynn 

Linton 50 

Margaret Byng. F. C. 

Philips 50 

For One and the World. 

M. Betham-Ed wards tO 

Princess Sunshine. Mrs. J. 

11. Riddell 50 

Sloane Square Scandal. 

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The Night of the 3d Ult. 

H. F. Wood 50 

Quite Another Story. 

Jean^ngelow 50 

Heart OF Gold. L T. Meade 50 
The Word and the Will. 

James Payn 50 

Dumps. Mrs. Louisa Parr.. 50 
The Black Box Murder. 

By the man who discovered 

the murderer 50 

The Great Mill St. Mys- 
tery. Adeline Sergeant 50 
Between Life and Death. 
Frank Barrett 50 


Name and Fame. Adeline 
Sergeant and Ewing Lester 50 
Dramas of Life. G. R. Sims. 50 
Lover or Friend? Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 50 

Famous or Infamous. Ber- 
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The House of Halliwell. 

Mrs. Henry Wood 50 

Ruffino. Ouida 50 

Alas I Rhoda Broughton. . . 50 
Basil and Annette. B. L. ' 

Farjeon. . 50 

The Demoniac. W. Besant 50 
Brave Heart and True. 

Florence Marrvat 50 

Lady Maude’s Mania. G. 
Manville Fenn 50 


cts 

137. Marcia. W. E. Norris..., 50 

138. Wormwood. Marie Corelli. 5C/ 

139. The Honorable Miss. L. 

T. Meade 50 

140. A BitterBirthright. Dora 

Russell • 50 

141. A Double Knot. G. M. Fenn 50 

142. A Hidden Foe. G. A Henty 50 

143. Urith. S. Barii^g Gould. . . 50 

144. Brooke’s Daughter. By 

Adeline Sergeant 50 

145. A Mint of Money. George 

Manville Fnin 50 

146. A Lost Illusion. By Leslie 

Keith 50 

147. Forestalled. By M. Beth- 

am-Ed wards 50 

148. The Risen Dead. By Flor- 

ence Marry at 50 

149. The Roll of Honor. ' By 

Annie Thomas 50 

. 150. A Baffling Quest. By 

Richard Dowling 50 

151. The Laird o’ Cockpen. By 

‘•Rita’ .’ 50 

152. A Life for a Love. By L. 

T. Meade 50 

153. Mine Own People. By 

Rudyard Kipling 50 

154. Eight Days. By R. E. Forrest 50 

155. The Heart of a Maid. By 

Beatrice Kipling. 50 

156. The Heir Presumptive and 

Heir Apparent. By Mrs. 
Oliphant 50 

157. Tn the Heart of the Storm. 

^ By Maxwell Gray 50 

158. An Old Maid’s Love. By 

Maarten Maartens 50 

159. There Is No Death. By 

Florence Marry at 50 

160. The Soul of Countess 

Adrian. By Mrs. Camp- 
bell- Praed 50 

161. For the Defense. By B. 

L. Far jeon.-. 50 

162. Sunny Stories and Some 

Shady Ones. By J. Payne 50 

163. Eric Brighteyes. H. Rider 

Haggard 50 

164. My First Love and My Last 

Love. Mrs. J. H. Riddell 50 

165. The World, The Flesh, and 

The Devil. By Miss M. E. 

. Braddon. 50 

166. He Fell Among Thieves. By 

David Christie Murray and 
Henry Herman 50 

167. Ties— Human and Divine. 

By B. L. Far jeon 50 

168. The Freaks of Lady For- 

tune. By May Crommelin’ 50 

169. Maisib Derrick. By Kath-\ 

erine S. Macquoid 50 

170. A Fatal Past. ByDoraRus- 

s^ell.. 50 

171. Miss Wentworth’s Idea. By 

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